


The Calabrian Gambit

by chapa3



Category: Black Lagoon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-10 11:10:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 38,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3288119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chapa3/pseuds/chapa3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Black Lagoon Company is hired to smuggle in a man carrying 400 kilos of cocaine. A simple job turns into a web of gambits and feigns, as this enigmatic stranger threatens to turn Roanapur on its head. Who is Luca Cavalcanti, and what are his motives?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Calabrese

"We got a new job. A long distance job at that. Someone wishes to move a set of large packages from Samoa to Roanapur." Dutch echoes throughout the torpedo boat. Sighing, he takes another sip from his beer, reflecting on the past few weeks. It was their first job since the Feng and Jane Bhai fiasco resolved itself in a truly brutal fashion.

"Any word on what we are transporting?" Rock asks. Seated next to Dutch, Rock fidgets, reeling from the aftermath of the Feng incident. His hands shake almost out of reflex as he holds a cigarette between his right index and middle fingers. Revy, seeing this, shifts her attention to a blank wall. ' _At least that shit is over,'_  Revy thinks to herself.

Dutch adjusts his sunglasses, responding. "Our client stated that we will receive further instructions in Samoa. Nothing else is known." He cracks a wry smile as Rock prepares to retort. "I find this suspicious as well, Rock. The pay is good, however. $25,000, in American."

"25,000! Who the fuck is our client?" Revy yells out, fully engaged. There hasn't been any work in two weeks. The sound of such a job, one of the largest pays in months, piqued Revy's interest.

"The client identified himself as a Luca Cavalcanti. I would expect this to be a job from the Sicilians, but his English was very clear with an American accent."

Revy arcs herself back on to the couch from her original seated position. Her attention turns to Rock, who's peering out at the Indonesian waters with a cigarette tucked in his mouth. "Do we even have enough food for the trip?" Revy asks Rock.

"I haven't been to Samoa before, but I do know we clearly need to make a stop along the way, with our low food reserves. Papua New Guinea makes the most sense to stop at convenience wise. I'd imagine we'd stock up on enough food at Port Moresby, should be enough for the trip. Just watch out, Revy. Roanapur isn't the only broken city out there." Growing a pained smirk, Rock adds, "I can't claim to be the first employee from my company to be kidnapped overseas."

Revy cracks a bemused smirk "Ha! Now I really am looking forward to this. Dutch! When do you think we will reach Moresby?"

Dutch gets up from his seat, beer in hand, and heads toward navigation. "Around 3 days."

"Three…Fucking…Days. Nothing but fucking bananas, avocados, and spam. ROCK! Please tell me that Samoa is near." Revy buries her head into the couch. She groans from boredom, slightly drunk off of beer. A half dozen empty cans lie on the ground nearby.

"Benny says that we are two hours away. We will reach Samoa by noon," Rock responds, leaning on a chair.

Revy tilts her head upwards, facing Rock, some of her hair partially obscuring her face. "What do they eat in Samoa? Bananas and spam?"

"Nope…Coconuts and spam," Rock answers, hiding his amusement for his own safety.

"Ugh…," Revy belts out. "Someone fucking shoot me." She reaches for another beer on the table.

"This is the place." Dutch solemnly says. Before the Lagoon is an old wharf with a partially rotted dock and a black SUV by the dock. As Dutch, Revy, and Rock step out onto the partially broken wharf, the occupants of the SUV get out. Two men, the driver and a passenger riding shotgun, leave the SUV. They hurry to the back of the SUV and open the trunk. The passenger then grabs a pair of large duffle bags and struggles to raise them off the SUV and onto the ground. The driver then grabs two more duffle bags and sets them down next to the first pair. The driver turns to the passenger and gives him an embrace, patting him on the back. "In bocca al lupo, paisan (break a leg, friend)," the driver utters. The driver then gives a quick glance at Black Lagoon company and motions them over, then opens the door to the SUV. As Dutch approaches the passenger, the driver hits the gas and quickly drives away.

"You Luca?" Dutch asks the passenger. The man appears to be in quite good shape. Dutch, Revy, and Rock size the man up. He appears to be around Balalaika's height, with well defined shoulders. Clean shaven, with slick black hair, slightly beyond shoulder length. His hair flows over his two shoulders, on top of a large blue and green t-shirt. Bangs grow long enough to obscure his eye brows. Upon closer inspection, the shirt is revealed to be a Vancouver Canucks jersey, with the number 16 on the front. Under the jersey is a pair of slightly worn denim jeans and a pair of white tennis shoes. Surveying his face, one would see a cleft chip and a bandage over his forehead. The passenger looks into Dutch's eyes and answers.

"Yes. You must be Dutch. You look larger than I expected. I am certain you are swarmed with questions by now." Revy's eyes lit up. She noticed the accent on the voice, an accent she hasn't heard in years. The sound of a distinct New York City accent, coupled with an apparently sophisticated method of speaking.

Luca takes out a pack of Parliaments and removes a single cigarette. He then searches his back pocket and sighs. "I must have left my lighter in the car. May you spare a light?" Dutch retrieves his lighter and helps Luca light his cigarette. "Grazie. Now listen. You have been hired to transport these five packages to Roanapur. From there, you will move the five packages to a safehouse near the…" Luca retrieves a scrap of paper from his back pocket. "Ah yes, …the Yellow Flag?"

"We know the one," says Dutch.

"Bene," Luca answers, taking a puff from his cigarette. "Now, if you would help me carry these onto the boat..."

"Wait a minute. You said five packages, but I only see four duffle bags." Rock yells out. "You must be the fifth package."

"You are a bright one," Luca gave a bemused smirk as the four of them carry a duffle bag each. Revy stares at the back of Luca's jersey, the name Linden written out. ' _Who the fuck is Linden?'_ Revy thinks to herself as she makes out the outline of a pistol concealed under his jersey. Revy, annoyed, yells out. "What the fuck are we smuggling? Boulders?"

"Cocaine. Around 100 kilos worth in each bag. So unless you desire to be indebted to my organization for over a few million dollars, I would certainly recommend that you not drop that bag into the ocean."

Revy silently glares at Luca, imagining various ways to kill him. He has succeeded in angering her in mere seconds.

All four carry their bags onto the Lagoon, with Luca carrying the last bag. "We need to store these parcels someplace dry," says Luca.

"I got it," says Dutch, who opens a hatch and climbs down a ladder. Luca, Rock, and Revy take turns dropping the bags down the hatch as Dutch catches them.

"So…*pants* what organization did you mean?" asks Rock.

After Luca drops the fourth bag down the hatch, which gives a thud as Dutch catches it, the man turns to Rock and answers. "The 'Ndrangheta."

"The 'Ndrangheta?" Rock's eyes light up. Memories of newspaper articles he read back in Japan flood his mind. Articles of a ransomed kidnapping of the son of an oil tycoon come clear to mind. These images are soon replaced with the recent memories of Japan, of Balalaika's assault on the Yakuza. "Damn it all. This is going to be Japan all over again."

Revy raises her left eyebrow. ' _The 'Ndrangheta? Have I heard of them before?'_

"So it is true, then." Luca responds. "I heard about what happened with Hotel Moscow and the Kousa Council. Some members were quite intrigued with the unique way you and that lady over their handled the remnants of the Yakuza. Even more so impressed with the resolution for the Loveless incident. This prompted a background check that proved to be quite rewarding. We desired someone we could rely on, that is where the job came from. You, and the fair lady," Luca adds, growing a crude smile.

"Lady? The name is Revy, ass-jaw." Revy blurts out. Each word that Luca utters pricks Revy's skin with needles as she struggles to repress memories of NYC.

"Nice to meet you too." Luca answered back with a wry smirk. "The 'Ndrangheta has been planning to expand into South East Asia for some time, to tap the markets in Thailand, 'Nam, Laos, Cambodia, etcetera. My superiors determined Roanapur would be an excellent springboard for further expansion into Australia, Malaysia, Indonesia, and possibly Hong Kong. I am certain you already know that, in light of the cargo being transported, that the Sicilians and the Colombians will not take kindly to us, but I'd imagine they would be the only potential hostile factions. Hotel Moscow's revenue depends largely outside the drug trade, and Chang's Triads rely on the heroin trade. The Colombians themselves have been on rather unsupported ground since the 2nd Loveless fiasco, and lack the resources to attack. Lastly, the Sicilians have been under great suspicion since the Romani twins incidents, and Mr. Ronald Cuccia has demonstrated a lack of...diplomacy in negotiating with the other factions, and would be destroyed if he wages war. As such, I am certain that this job will not shatter any alliances that Black Lagoon has established that are worth maintaining, nor attract any organized violence."

"You seem to know a fucking lot about us," Revy snarls. "And why would you be at war with the Sicilians? I thought you're Italian as well."

"The 'Ndrangheta is a loose international confederation of mafia strongholds, though we do meet for certain meetings in Calabria. That is on the Italian mainland, not Sicily itself. I am from the 'Ndrangheta branch in Western Canada. We have been trying to form a drug route from Italy to Thailand through Canadian borders for quite some time now. Now if you would entreat me, as a guest, I humbly inquire if you have anything to eat?"

"Yeah, fucking bananas, fucking coconuts, and fucking spam. Have fun," Revy snarls again at Luca. Luca responds with a blank smile and then climbs the ladder down to the lower deck. Rock closes the hatch and then turns to Revy.

"Is there something the matter there, Revy?" Rock asks.

Revy pulls out a cigarette and lights it with a match. Tossing the match over her head and into the water, Revy answers. "There's something about Luca that really fucking pisses me off. Fucker gives off the same vibes as Chaka did, only more subtly. Be careful around him Rock. He got the smell of blood on him, but not blood that he drew. More like the type of asshole that makes others kill for him." Revy blows a puff of smoke out of her mouth. Her words immediately take Rock back to Japan, to Balalaika and the massacre of the Kousa Council. " _You'd make a fine villain._ " Rock has not forgotten those words, the words Balalaika gave for Rock after he asked her to massacre every last one of the Washimine Group.

"Someone like me?" Rock solemnly asks, almost whispering. Revy's eyes twitch. She takes another drag from her cigarette.

"No Rock, not exactly like you. You don't carry a fucking gun because of some half-assed belief that doing so proves a point. Unlike Luca, who carries a gun to show that he can kill, not because he needs it. He fucking irritates me. The sooner we get this job over with, the fucking better."

Rock turns his attention to the horizon, the Pacific stretched before him. He takes out a cigarette of his own and lights it with a match. Exhaling smoke, he gives a sigh as the Lagoon budges, beginning its return to Roanapur.

"Signora…do you…" Luca tries to talk to Revy inside the Lagoon.

"For the last time, shit for brains, it's Revy!" Revy snarls at Luca, glaring. She finds herself impressed that she hasn't pushed Luca overboard and left him to drown. Luca responds with a smile, the same largely expressionless smile he has responded to Revy the entire trip. Luca gets up from his chair and walks toward navigation. Walking through the opened door, Luca knocks on the wall to catch Dutch's attention.

"How long until we reach Roanapur?" Luca asks.

"4 days with a stop. We are making a stop at Port Moresby tomorrow, to buy gas and some storage goods." Dutch answers without turning to face Luca.

Luca nods his head, and then smells something. "I will never get the smell of fried spam out of my nose." Luca gives an annoyed smirk.

"Meatloaf without the basic training. Had my fill of it back in Vietnam." Dutch emotionlessly responds.

"You served in Vietnam?" Luca asks, with a wry smirk.

"Yes." Dutch blankly responds.

"How was it, fighting in the jungle? Seeing close friends get skewered on booby traps?" Luca asks, silently grinning.

"I would prefer not to answer." Dutch responds, mildly annoyed. Luca reaches for a cigarette, bemused. He leaves without saying a word. Walking back inside the lobby of the Lagoon, Luca sits on a chair. Revy ignores Luca as he lights his cigarette. Suddenly, Rock enters the lobby with a pair of bowls and a pair of beers juggled on his arms. "Microwaved and chopped spam with Sriracha sauce and beer." Rock announces.

Raising her head from the couch, Revy speaks out. "Ey Rock, want to know what would make this meal better?"

Rock reaches for a fork and starts twirling the fried false pork around in the bowl. "Rice?" Rock asks.

Rising from the couch with a violent smile on her face, Revy yells "IF THERE WASN'T ANY FUCKING SPAM IN IT!" Luca continues to smoke, not even flinching when Revy yells. "I am sick of fucking pork already. Someone make a pizza!"

Luca quietly chuckles. Revy notices this, which draws her ire. "And what the fuck is so funny Ozzy Osbourne? Fuck I hate this day."

Amused, Luca asks another question that he knows the answer to. "And what kind of canned foods can we buy in Port Moresby?"

Revy's eyes twitch again, the accent and the tone irritating her. She tries to think of something to say, and all she could say is "Fuck you" as she returns to ignoring Luca.

Rock notices the rising tension between Luca and Revy, which brings some concern to him. Opening a can of beer in preparation for his lunch, Rock analyzes Luca and realizes that he is intentionally drawing a reaction out of Revy. The question for Rock became 'why'. Revy's advice echoes through his head as Rock realizes what Luca is doing. ' _What kind of person is this guy?'_  Rock asks himself, soaking in all the variables around him, as the torpedo boat roasts under the Pacific sun.

 


	2. Eris and Mephistopheles

The crescent moon mingles with the neon lights of downtown Roanapur. Rock drives the GTO past the Yellow Flag, driving slowly as whores and scumbags alike cross the street. Luca peers out, surveying a hooker talking with a foreign tourist. "I find this place fascinating," Luca blurts out, dragging on his cigarette. "Calabria is a bit like this, lawless I mean, only much more rustic and ancient. Vancouver was a scenic beauty, but it doesn't have the right air for me. I think I will feel very comfortable here." Revy rolls her eyes, riding shotgun as Rock steers and Luca sits in the back with two of the duffle bags at his side. "Yes Rock, stop right in front of that apartment, the one with those two men in Hawaiian shirts sitting on the folding chairs."

Rock parks the car in front of the apartment. Luca gets out, pulling one duffle bag out and placing it on the ground. Rock and Revy climb out of the GTO and head to the trunk. The two henchmen carry the passenger seat duffle bags as Rock and Revy pull out the remaining two. Luca calls out to one of the henchmen. "Mr. Carlo Pisano, retrieve the remaining bag and place it on the ground. I want you to guard the car. Ensure that no one attempts to steal it. Or break into the apartments for that matter." Carlo, a large, burly, bald man with a thick handle bar moustache nods. "I understand, boss." Carlo's tone triggers a few raised eyebrows from Revy and Rock. The mammoth of a man responded with a sense of fear, as if he was speaking to the devil.

The other henchman, fairly built and medium height with extremely short black hair and slight stubble, grabs the bag that Carlo propped on the ground. He, Luca, Rock, and Revy carry their bags into the apartment. "Please tell me there's a fucking elevator," Revy groans. "It's only one flight of stairs. I also would not trust that the elevator is properly maintained," Luca responds. They reach a door numbered 211 and drop their bags onto the ground. Luca knocks on the door, and in seconds they hear a man unholster a gun and slowly open the apartment door, the chain still attached. The man then removes the chain and yells to the room behind him "Mr. Cavalcanti is here." Opening the door, the man, a somewhat bony individual with a five o-clock shadow and a military haircut, wearing a cotton, sleeveless shirt that seems two sizes too large on him, motions Luca in. Revy, annoyed, asks Luca "When are we getting our goddamn pay?" Luca turns his head and responds. "I'll treat you both to a pair of alcoholic beverages, as my guests. I also have a business proposition for you." Revy's eyes light up, unnerved at the answer. Her hands start to shake, ready to start shooting. The bony man spots this and switches his gun, a Glock 22, to his left hand, displaying it. "I apologize for not being more frank, Miss Revy. I was told the money is in the safe. It just needs to be withdrawn. It is my belief that I owe you repayment for your hospitality on the Lagoon, which is why I offer you my hospitality and an opportunity for more money." Those words made Revy even more anxious and trigger-happy. She taps Rock on the back with her right hand, who turns to Revy. More than a year sailing and surviving together made Rock able to recognize Revy's facial expression. ' _Be on your fucking toes, Rock'_ , she seems to convey. Rock subtly nods at Revy, understanding. As they walk in, the bony man prepares to frisk Revy and Rock, but is stopped by Luca. "She can keep her weapons, Mr. Giuseppe Zicarelli, and the other is not armed." Giuseppe motions Revy and Rock inside as henchmen pour outside the apartment to carry the duffle bags inside.

Stepping inside, Revy counted three henchmen, not including Luca, Giuseppe, Carlo, and the other Hawaiian shirt man. The apartment itself felt quite cramped, the fluorescent ceiling lights flickering as a small television showed a soccer game. "Mr. Paolo Spoletta, may you change to the hockey game?" Luca asked the other Hawaiian shirt man. Giuseppe answers for him "My apologies boss, we only get these soccer games and some Jap baseball." Rock gives Giuseppe a dirty glare, who just chuckles to himself. Luca gave Giuseppe a blank look, which freezes Giuseppe to his core. "I'll get the money," Giuseppe nervously responds, leaving for another room. Luca retrieves three cans of beer from the kitchen, propping them on an old coffee table. Revy and Rock simply stare at Luca, who opens his can. "Well? You don't fancy Heineken?" Luca asks, hiding his face with his hair. Anxiously, Revy reaches for her can, subtly feeling the top of the can for possible holes in it, as well as smeared poison. Finding none of the sort, she opens her can and begins to drink, which prompts Rock to slowly do the same. Luca raises his beer and says "Cheers." As he takes a sip, he feels a slight discomfort from his jersey. "If you will excuse me," Luca says, pulling his jersey over his head. Rock and Revy glared in surprise as a giant tattoo is revealed on Luca's back. The tattoo, colorless, shows a woman with wings and a quilted blouse, and under the woman is spelled the word "Eris" in English script. As Luca walks to the rear rooms, Rock whispers to Revy. "That was a tattoo of Eris. Goddess of pain, chaos, murder, ruin, lies." Revy slouches on the couch. "The fuck does that have to with it?" is all she could say.

The sound of footsteps quickly followed the arcing of Revy's head. Carrying a duffle bag, the same as one of the duffle bags used to transport the cocaine, Luca approaches the couch and gently props the bag onto the ground next to Rock. His clothes changed. Instead of a jersey, Luca is wearing a white dress shirt just like Rock, except without a tie and a shirt pocket. Instead of denim jeans, he is wearing beige dress pants with a black, leather belt. Instead of tennis shoes, a pair of black dress shoes. He is carrying a beige sports jacket on his shoulder. Sitting down, Luca crosses his legs, and speaks.

"In that duffle bag is the $25,000 I have promised. It is in cash, and it is all yours." Luca opens the duffle bag and retrieves a stack of $20 bills. He slides the stack toward Revy, who flips through them. "They are legitimate," Revy answers, as she tosses the stack back into the duffle bag. Lighting a cigarette, Luca takes a drag and continues. "Now, I believe I mentioned that I have more work available," Luca says, as Revy and Rock stand on attention. "Rock, or should I say, Rokuro Okajima," Luca pauses. Rock's eyebrow rises in response to Luca knowing his true name. Revy moves her hands closer to her pistols. "You were born in 1975, am I correct?" Luca asks, smirking. Rock, taken aback, asks "How did you know that?" Luca takes another draw on his cigarette, ignoring Rock's question, asking "Do you remember any events that stood out as you were aging into adulthood?" At this point, Luca has irritated both Revy and Rock. "Mr. Cavalcanti, what exactly are you asking, and how do you know my name?" Rock asked, annoyed.

Luca places his cigarette on an ashtray and takes a sip from his beer. Smirking ever more, he asks "Are you familiar with the Ezaki Glico and Morinaga kidnapping and extortion attempts?"

Rock's hands begin to shake, the can of beer in his hand splashing beer upwards. "I…I went through school with that case on the news. It was terrifying. I couldn't bring myself to eat anything not from a can for months." Revy, confused, asks "What the fuck is a Glico Morinaga?"

Rock turns to Revy and answers. "It is not known whether it was the North Koreans, or terrorists, or the Yakuza, or just a few really crafty individuals. They terrorized several Japanese candy and food corporations, starting with a kidnapping and ransom of the President of Glico. They claimed that they laced company products in supermarkets with poison, which forced the companies to withdraw them from the shelves. They then followed by threatening to place poisoned foods back on the shelves, unless they were paid huge sums. These extortionists fire bombed company vehicles, sent candies to company offices that they openly claimed were laced with cyanide, paired extortion letters with bottles of hydrochloric acid. They systematically terrorized several corporations, extorting hundreds of millions of Yen, and were never caught. Police barely caught glimpses of them. I…I can understand the ability to pull that off in a place like Japan, but Roanapur is run by criminal cartels. Everyone buys food here at their own risk, you can't sue anyone here, and shopkeepers either are already extorted or are too poor to target." Rock and Revy turn toward Luca, who responds. "That is true, but you are forgetting the first act of the script that those extortionists used…the kidnapping of President Ezaki. The 'Ndrangheta made fortunes through kidnapping and ransom, if are not already familiar. A plan has already been drawn up, based off plans that have been utilized before to profound success. The pay is also very good if this plan succeeds. You both will receive 100,000, American."

Revy gags. "100,000! Who the fuck are you abducting?"

Luca smirks, ignoring the question. "I cannot say anymore unless you are in agreement. I need your services for this script."

Rock looks down toward the ground, shaking his head. Memories of the Garcia incidents flood his brain, of being chased after by Roberta, of having his ribs broken after being shot with a blank bullet by Fabiola. As he is about to answer, he notices the television has been changed to a Japanese news channel. Confused, he walks toward the television. The news anchor speaks.

"A suspect has been identified in the murder of Yakuza boss Masami Kousa. Fingerprints from the murder weapon retrieved point to a Rokuro Okajima, a former employee of Asahi Heavy Industrial Corporation who has been declared dead following his disappearance in South East Asia. The brother of the accused, one Goro Okajima, is under investigation for possible security leaks. A graduate of Kobe University, Goro Okajima has worked for Public Security in the Chiba office. When pressed on whether Goro Okajima would be implicated and/or forced to resign from his post, the head investigator declined to comment."

Rock's eyes glare up. He mutters "No. No, no, no. This is not happening." Rock holds his right palm on his forehead, and then moves both his hands into his hair, muttering in a panic. Luca's grin widens nearly ear to ear as Revy glares venomously at Luca. "The 'Ndrangheta have been quite successful in solving matters through secrecy and discretion. When pressed to arms, we will respond in full force, certainly. But my father instilled in me the ideals that the best pistol is hidden in a holster, that deals are always followed by more deals," Luca pauses, his smile widening further to reveal his teeth. "And that one must never throw away what one can use."

Revy's temper reaches a breaking point. "You greaseball motherfucker! You set this all up!" She unholsters both of her Cutlasses, one pointed at Luca, the other at Giuseppe. Paolo and the three other mobsters reach for their weapons. Everyone but Luca draws their guns at Revy. As Revy envisions likely attack scenarios and cover points to clear the room out, Luca motions everyone to lower their guns. They all comply, aside from Revy. Sweat drips down Giuseppe's and Paolo's neck. The three henchmen occupy the kitchen nearby, staring anxiously. Luca breaks the silence "Now, now. I did not spearhead this investigation. I merely…procured the information that you were a suspect and that your brother's occupation is in jeopardy. I am quite talented in information procurement, after all. I was going to promise you this as a bonus in good faith for your cooperation, but if I must sweeten this pot, then so be it." Luca puts his cigarette down on the ashtray and gets up. "The $100,000 pay stands as it is. As a bonus, I will you use all my powers and all of my abilities to divert attention from your brother. I cannot guarantee that I could make the evidence disappear and clear your name, that would be nigh impossible. But I can guarantee that Goro Okajima will not lose his status, and will not bring shame to the Okajima family. Consider this, Rokuro, as a favor for a favor, the bending of your morals," Luca's grin grows manically "for your brother's security and employment." Luca almost beams in smiling, extending his right hand. Revy's left Cutlass vibrates from her hands shaking. She wants nothing more than to kill Luca and everyone one of his henchmen as they stand, but she knew she couldn't. She knew that she has no choice but to let Rock cast his die. Revy glares at Rock, his right hand slowly extending, pauses in the air for several seconds, until Rock meekly grabs Luca's hand. His touch is icy, not quite like a corpse but neither like a normal human in a hot locale like Roanapur. Luca extends his left hand and places it over Rock's wrist and grabs firmly, in what appears to be an assurance of security. He shakes twice, as Revy stares in rage, slowly holstering her Cutlasses. The henchmen breathe a sigh of relief as Giuseppe wipes the sweat off his brow. Luca sits back down on the couch, retrieves his cigarette from his ashtray, and proclaims "We have a deal." Rock sits down, stares meekly into Luca's face, almost whispering for the details to the plan. "Expect a phone call to the Black Lagoon Roanapur office in…two days, around noon. I will explain more then. In the meanwhile, I am afraid that I must tend to my business. Oh! And do not forget your pay. Give my regards to Dutch."

Luca motions toward the duffle bag full of bills. Rock raises the duffle bag as the two are led out by Giuseppe. The atmosphere in the apartment is swathed in tension and nerves. Revy and Rock do not glance back at Luca as he waves them away. Revy and Rock leave the apartment, not turning around to see Giuseppe shut the door behind. Without saying a word, they walk down the stairs and out the door, ignoring Carlo, who is slouched against his folding chair, staring off blankly toward the sky. Revy opens the door and steps in to drive as Rock opens the trunk and tosses the duffle bag inside. Closing the trunk, Rock heads toward shotgun and hops inside. Firmly seated, he pulls the car keys out of his shirt pocket and hands them over to Revy. As Revy takes them, Rock musters the will to speak.

"Revy I am…"

"Rock. Please don't give me that shit." She heaves a sigh. "I vaguely heard of the 'Ndrangheta. Balalaika, Chang, I can predict their actions, been around them long enough. Him on the other hand…sly, greasy bastard…" She buries her head into the wheel. Turning on the engine, she arcs back and stares upward at the car roof, then to Rock. "You never really told me much about your brother, besides how he was your family's favorite."

"Ehh…we never really were close, despite living in the same house all our lives. Goro was always aloof, like he only cared about his studies, then his job. Parents really liked that part of him." Rock grinds his teeth in rage. "He doesn't need this shit. Argh. Damn it all to hell."

Revy thinks of something appropriate to say. She feels strange, unsure on how to approach this situation. Looking off into the distance, she asks "So it seems like you now can't return home even if you wanted…"

Rock turns to Revy and answers. "I am not sure what you mean. My home is a torpedo boat called the Black Lagoon. Sometimes a Roanapur office or a shit motel."

"Then why are we protecting your brother?" Revy asks, almost rhetorically.

"Revy…you know why. He is family. I know, I know, my old family. But I cannot stand the thought that my actions will destroy his career. I don't want to carry that baggage around."

"And now we are working for Ozzy Osbourne..." A smile cracks on Revy's face "course…$100,000 is not a joke, and I would love a chance to put some holes in that dickhead if he tries to weasel out of this." Revy grows silent for a few seconds, and then adds. "It is strange. It is really goddamn strange. People hundreds of miles away, people you barely heard of, people you never knew existed. These people could make you act a certain way, do a certain thing, just by being there. I never could understand why, really." She steps on the gas pedal and starts driving toward their motels. "Shit, I don't know what's gotten in to me. I am just glad I won't have to see that fucker Luca for a short while."

"Revy, you seemed to hate Luca as soon as he opened his mouth back at Samoa. What is going on?" Rock was almost surprised when he asked that question without fear or hesitation. ' _A year ago and I would have been replied to with a 'fuck you, mind your own business' and a sore jaw',_ Rock thought to himself, quickly reflecting on all the insanity they survived together.

Revy pauses, almost losing sight of the road. "It is the way he talks. I don't know. Maybe he just reminds me of New York City, brings back shit I always try to forget. Maybe there's more." Revy's grip on the wheel tightens. "Abergo, the Sicilians, even Hotel Moscow are predictable. This guy, this Luca Cavalcanti, I don't know. I don't know what the hell motivates him. He stinks like death. The whole thing stinks like shit."

Rock looks out the window, gazing the lights and bustle of Roanapur at night. He ponders deeply over Luca, the 'Ndrangheta representative. An outsider. A volatile component that threatens to shatter the status quo of Roanapur. "He is much different than the other mob bosses. Much smarter than Ronny the Jaws, much more collected than Abergo. He reminds me of Mr. Chang, the way he talks. The way he moves. Yet there is something…more." Rock ponders all the interactions he had with Luca, every small detail.

"What I want to know, is why us? He had men at the apartment. I am sure there are more on the streets as well. Why the fuck is he asking us? He knew about Roberta, about Japan. He calls you Rokuro like he is he your fucking father. And the fuck is up with that Morinaga thing?"

Rock stares toward the roof. "Right now, we don't have enough puzzle pieces to solve this riddle." Rock thinks back further to the anarchy Roberta left when she returned to Roanapur. "I just hope the city doesn't turn into another war zone, that all my ribs are intact, and that my brother is out of this mess."

"At least you are risking our lives over some more than a stupid sense of morality." Revy takes a quick pause. "The submarine, that schoolgirl in Japan, psycho maid and 'Young Master'…" Revy performs a rare reflection of the time since Rock joined the Lagoon. She remembers recovering Rock's wallet right before the Roberta/Fabiola crisis. The picture of Yukio crossed out in red marker. She struggles to understand the thoughts flowing to her brain. Revy takes a quick glance toward Rock, and then refocuses on the road. Finding the thoughts foreign and strange to her, she chases them away, yet again.

"We need to get Dutch on board for this," Rock blurts out. "I'd imagine that he would not like his employees freelancing for an outsider mobster. Though I would imagine the pay may be quite attractive." Revy nods in agreement and asks "Can you spare me a cig? My hands are full."

Reaching into his pocket, Rock retrieves a cigarette and lights it. He extends it toward her, who, seeing that there are no cars in sight, extends her head forward and bites onto the cigarette. She takes a drag and then readjusts it for her left hand. "Thanks."

The lights of downtown Roanapur flash through the GTO, glowing past them like fireworks. The crescent moon fights to outshine these lights, but fails miserably. ' _You just don't want to lose the life that you thought you threw away. You don't want to lose anything. Even that which you thrown away. You still hang on to a piece of yearning'._

' _Don't look at her Rock! You will be damaged!'_

"Roanapur. A city of the living dead. How beautifully it shines at night," is all Rock could say.


	3. The Joker and the Thief

"Now I told you, over and over again, we are couriers. We do not do kidnappings," Dutch irritably explained. "And don't try to say the Garcia transportation was a kidnapping. Unless we know who the target is, I cannot let you go ahead with this as a member of Black Lagoon." Dutch pauses, and continues "This is damned crazy."

"Dutch, my brother's career is at stake. Luca promises to protect my brother from investigation. He even promises a huge pay, a pay that will keep us afloat for months, maybe years." Rock pleads.

"And if this Mr. Cavalcanti targets the wrong people, or maybe the right people, I don't even know what he wants, then Black Lagoon will be dragged into another mess, or worse. Black Lagoon has not even been commissioned, you have! Look, Rock, I gave you some space for the Roberta issue. I gave you a lot of trust and faith, and you resolved it, and we all profited from it, but then we at least had an idea of what to do. This time, 'we' are not making any plans here. We, and I mean you and Revy, are following plans that Cavalcanti already made. Plans that may put me at odds with Balalaika and Chang. It is dangerous, and not the exciting kind of danger either."

"What is going on here?" Revy drowsily asks. "It's around the time Luca said he will call."

"That was exactly what I was discussing with Rock. I cannot support you two in this…" Dutch pauses. Thinking for a second, he continues. "However, I will give you permission, unofficially. I will consider this a personal issue between you and Luca, and Revy as she offered to assist. Therefore, I will have to distance myself from you two. You and Revy are temporarily not recognized as members of Black Lagoon. Pretend that you are back in Japan, translating for Balalaika."

' _Great, not exactly the most encouraging of things to say,'_ Rock thought to himself.

"Fine. Better to split 100 thousand in two ways then in four," Revy replies. She turns to the bathroom and proceeds when the phone rings, freezing her in her steps.

"I'll get it." Rock slowly walks forward. The phone rings twice. A third time. Raising the phone to his ear, Rock braces himself. "Who is this?"

"Greetings Rokuro. It would be recommended that you watch your local news," Luca responds.

Lowering the phone to his chest, Rock turns to Dutch. "Dutch, it is Luca. He says I should watch the 'local news'."

Dutch grabs the remote and presses a few buttons on the remote. The channel shifts towards a Bangkok based news station. The anchor describes the weather, warning of strong showers for the next few days. At the bottom, a headline spells out.

" _It is reported that two Sicilian tourists have been murdered in Roanapur. When approached, investigators have declined to comment. Rumors have circulated that a child was with the tourists, though police are unable to verify if this is true."_

"Quite a stunning headline, if I may so boldly declare," Luca blurts out over the phone, slightly muffled, but still a noticeable tone of glee. "We will rendezvous at the China Bowl. Transportation will be provided there. There is much to discuss, and so I eagerly wait." Luca hangs up the phone.

"The fucker acts like this is some kind of game," Revy blurts out, before walking into the bathroom.

"Revy is right, but I don't exactly have much of a choice…" Rock puts the phone down. "Tell her I will be downstairs, waiting."

As Rock is about to exit, Dutch turns his head to him. "You have quite a knack for finding a choice in these no choice situations. Just do me one favor. Remember that this is not the gunship, or Roberta. He is a difficult one to gauge, to figure out. I have seen men and women like this. They make you think you got a checkmate, and then reveal it's been a game of Chinese checkers all along."

Rock reaches for a smoke in his back pocket. Placing it in the right corner of his mouth, he offers a smirk and replies "Thanks for the advice."

Walking down the steps, Rock reaches for a set of matches. Finding that only one match remains, he sighs and slouches. The handle to the exit turns, pushed down by Rock's elbow as he awkwardly lights his cigarette. A flash of light illuminates the ground floor as Rock steps outside. He overhears someone shouting in what appears to be Vietnamese. Sighing, he rests his back against a wall as he observes the spectacle. A short, chubby Asian man is yelling at a vendor, waving around a watch with his right hand and pointing at the vendor with his left. The vendor, a man of similar height, only thinner, matches the angry customer, yell to yell. Suddenly, the chubby customer grabs the vendor by the shirt. The vendor responds by spitting at the customer squarely in the left eye and giving him a punch into his gut. The two brawl as a crowd watches in amusement.

"I'll bet $20 bhat on the fat one," Revy says in the doorway of the apartment. Rock turns to her and nods, hands inside his pant pockets. They begin their trek toward the China Bowl. While walking, Revy speaks out. "Dutch set up a cheap motel room for us while Luca jerks us around. He doesn't want to associate with us directly until we are finished. He promised to send our things over to the motel room in advance. Also, I called Leroy for information on Luca. He turned up nothing on him. For all purposes, Luca is essentially a ghost in Roanapur. I then asked Leroy for details on the 'Ndrangheta, and a few things lit up." Rock turns toward Revy, interested. Revy continues "Leroy matched what Luca said, in that the 'Ndrangheta are a loose lump of random families spread out over the world. The thing of notice, is that Chang, Balalaika, Abrego, Ronnie, all the bosses of Roanapur answer to someone bigger in their home country. If Luca is branching into Roanapur, the way Leroy describes the 'Ndrangheta work, it means Luca answers to himself. He has no backing, no fucking support aside from maybe asking for favors. For our concerns, he is the boss of the 'Ndrangheta." Rock, soaking in all the information, responds. "So his orders are his own. I would imagine Luca was asked, or even volunteered, to expand into Roanapur, but as soon as he stepped foot in the city, he becomes his own king."

Revy and Rock approach within a block of the China Bowl. "This fucking stinks. Rock, I am your gun, but I am useless in this situation. There's no gunfight, no war. A home invasion and a child snatched. If that was the job, then what the fuck did he hire us for?"

Rock thinks of something to say when a Vietnamese man stops him. "Hey, you two. Someone told me to be on the lookout for a man in office clothes. That table over there has been reserved for you, and a bowl of noodle soup has been made. Don't worry about the charge, the man has covered everything, tip as well. Enjoy." Rock and Revy stare at the man as he walks away. They suspiciously walk over to their table and take a seat, eyeing their brunch. Under Rock's bowl is a note that says "Eat well, for we will be busy for the entire day."

Revy slowly tastes her soup. "It is still hot. Damn it all, he guessed the right time that we will arrive. He gambles on everything in sight."

Rock, putting away the note and placing his cigarette on an ashtray, proceeds to eat his soup. "He is a very good gambler. It is as if every word he says has a meaning, either to place a bet or to insure it."

"You noticed that too? He is good, active, placing bets on top of other bets. We are just another bet in his game, whatever he is planning." Revy gazes blankly into her soup, plunging a spoon deep inside, picking up noodles and watercress.

The two slowly and silently finish their meals under the blistering sun. Minutes after they finish, a black Lincoln Town Car parks nearby. The driver, revealed to be Luca, opens the door and leans on the hood, dressed in the same professional attire he changed into in his safe house. Revy and Rock slowly get up, with Rock retrieving his cigarette, and walk toward the car. Luca, wearing a pair of dark sunglasses with small, spherical lenses that barely cover his eyes, grins as Revy and Rock near. "Perfect timing. The play has already begun and much work needs to be done. You will drive, Rokuro." Luca opens the door for Rock, who sits in the driver seat. Revy, grinding her teeth, heads around the back to sit shotgun. Luca sits in the passenger seat behind Rock.

"Drive to Somdet Road along Chulaloke Street," Luca speaks to break the silence. He reaches for a cigarette and a lighter. "It seems I forgot my lighter yet again. May you spare a flame, Rokuro?" Rock turns his head and replies "I am out of matches." Luca turns to Revy and asks, "Do you have a flame, Miss Revy?" His voice digs deep into Revy's skin, like needles piercing flesh. She irritably retrieves a set of matches and tosses them over her shoulder, which Luca catches. Luca rolls the nearby window down and lights his cigarette, tossing the spent match out the window. "Grazie," he adds.

"Are you going to tell us what we are doing now?" Rock asks, nervous of the answer. Luca slouches back and grins.

"Around 2:30 A.M. last night, two men named Carlo Pisano and Giuseppe Zicarelli forcibly entered the home of Sicilian Consigliere Fabrizio Ammassari. Inside, were a bodyguard and made man named Bruno Favaloro, the Consigliere's wife Teresa Ammassari, and the Consigliere's son, Luigi Ammassari. Entering from the entrance to their apartment, Carlo Pisano immediately opened fire and shot Mr. Favaloro with two shots to the chest, killing him. Young Luigi ran to his bedroom as Giuseppe Zicarelli chased the boy down. Mrs. Ammassari grabbed a kitchen knife and attacked Mr. Pisano, lacerating his left wrist. In response, Mr. Pisano snapped Mrs. Ammassari's right arm and grabbed her by the throat. Meanwhile, Mr. Zicarelli succeeded in subduing young Luigi. Young Luigi arrived just in time to see Mrs. Ammassari draw her final breath. The sight of Mother dying rendered young Luigi immobile, and a much easier package to transport towards an undisclosed location." Luca's grin grew ear to ear.

"Did all that violence have a point?" Rock asks, who, after over two years as a pirate, has almost become numb to Luca's kind of story. Revy simply looks away, absorbing the details with indifference to morality.

"Sometimes a director cannot depend on an actor to accurately express his or her lines, so therefore the director engineers a proper expression." Luca takes a drag from his cigarette. "I cannot reveal anymore until the time is right, for what kind of play would that be if the narrator ruins the plot?"

Revy nonchalantly asks "So are you the director, or the narrator?"

Luca grins ecstatically. "All the world is a stage, and all men and women merely players…"

"They have their exits and their entrances, and one man in his time plays many parts…" Revy finishes for Luca, indifferently.

Luca takes another drag. "When used in the context of its source, it is a quote about the seven stages of a human's life." Luca pauses, and then continues. "But when left alone, it seems to be a quote about god. A director, a script writer, a narrator." Luca looks to the window across from him and exclaims. "Stop the vehicle."

Rock parks the Town Car in front of a souvenir shop. Luca, without saying a word, opens the passenger door and walks toward the entrance, sunglasses adjusted and a wry smile on his face. As Luca enters the shop, Rock speaks out "I never knew you read Shakespeare."

Revy replies "I don't need to read books to know a quote that some dead guy wrote." She pulls out a cigarette and places it in her mouth. She searches for her set of matches for a second before adding, "Luca still has my matches. Damn it."

Turning her head to Rock, Revy asks, "Can I have a light?" He leans forward, cigarette centered in his mouth, as Revy does the same. The tips of their cigarettes meet, as Rock's cigarette lights Revy's. They look into each other's eyes, observing their identical weariness. "What the fuck does Luca want with a random souvenir shop?" Revy asks, cigarettes still joined. The cigarettes leave a centimeter apart as Rock answers, "The way he has been acting, I don't think this is a spur of the moment thing."

Luca returns to the car, carrying a rectangular object in his right hand. He opens the passenger door, and sits down, this time behind Revy. "I always desired one of these since I was a child," Luca says, cigarette still in his mouth. Rock and Revy turn to see that he purchased a glass ant farm. They stare at Luca in confusion, who continues "It is quite amusing, truly. How human beings are like ants. They ferry along, burrowing a path through, yet they always arrive where they began. Always at the mercy of someone…" Luca flips the ant farm upside down, causing the ants to fall on their backs. "Influencing, directing, inspiring them to follow a certain path, even though the results are the same. A god. Revy, do you believe in God?" Revy irritably responds, "What do you think?" Luca grins almost manically and adds, "I admire Jesus Christ. A mortal man who became a god."

Revy, confused, asks, "A mortal man who became a god? Isn't that contradictory to Christianity?"

Luca bursts out in laughter. "Heavens no! If you think I believe in some imaginary figure in the sky, then you are grossly mistaken. No…Jesus Christ of Nazareth became a god. Moses became a god. Karl Marx, Adolf Hitler, Mohandas Gandhi, Ernesto "Che" Guevara, Draco, Siddhartha Gautama Buddha, Qin Shi Huang, all became gods. To be a god is to influence the lives of others just by existing. That when the god leaves the stage, the actor still emulates the god, not necessarily out of fear of punishment, but out of a connection to the god. The actor acts, to move like him or her, act like him or her, worship him or her, or even to do the exact opposite out of anger, out of spite, out of simple being. To be a god is to affect, to warp another's reality, simply by once existing. Of course, godhood is only suggested when one is still alive. To truly be considered a god, one must leave the stage for good. If one still emulates a figure despite the figure ceasing to exist, the figure becomes immortal. He or she becomes a god."

Revy and Rock stare at Luca blankly, observing his maniac-like grin. Luca knocks some of the ash from cigarette onto the car floor and chuckles. "Ratchman believed in a god named Adolf Hitler and idolized him. Rosalita 'Roberta' Cisneros believed in a god named Diego Lovelace, and slaughtered dozens in his name. Yukio Washimine's god, if my sources investigating her are correct, was probably Martin Heidegger, given how many of his books were in her possession." Luca pauses as he notices Rock and Revy slowly becoming more and more enraged. "Rock, Revy…you have your own gods as well, even if you do not realize it."

Rock's eyes lit up. Rock's blood began to boil. He turns his head and screams. "Why are you investigating us! What the fuck do you want with us!" Revy takes a drag of her cigarette, eyes staring away, holding back her own anger.

Luca smiles again, his smile making Rock even more furious. "Now, now. Any good director reviews his actors' previous works." Revy couldn't hold her rage back anymore. "Can we go on with this fucking job? We were hired to do the Lord knows fucking what, so if our job was to listen to your fucked beliefs about the universe, then pay us and clear Rock's brother's name already!"

Luca simply chuckles, making Revy even more enraged, her mind relishing the image of a pair of bullets piercing through his expensive sunglasses. She turns her head toward Rock, who is facing the steering wheel, grinding his teeth. ' _That bastard. That snake…'_

"Very well, Miss Revy and Mister Rokuro, you have a point. Drive onward, Rokuro, as before." Revy turns her head forward and closes her eyes. She tries to drone out her rage, an act she hasn't been compelled to do in a while.

The Town Car drove onward, basking in the brutal Thai sun. The exterior scorches with the same fury as the interior, as Rock and Revy, for a rare moment, are simultaneously furious. Their guest, Luca Cavalcanti, smiles gleefully, as if his smile sucks in every buried and forgotten shred of happiness in Roanapur. Markets turn to restaurants. Restaurants turn to bars. Suddenly, Luca yells "Stop right there", pointing at a bar named "The Rama". The bar is flanked by a residential district of various apartments of various stages of decay. Luca stares out the window and asks "Revy, can you spot a local from the bar?" Revy, irritated, responds "The one entering the alleyway next to the bar is wearing local clothing. Cheap shirt, shorts, straw hat." Luca grins, reaching into a pocket in the inside of his sports jacket. He retrieves a balaclava and a parchment of paper. Placing the balaclava and the parchment on the divide between the two front seats, Luca reaches for his pocket again and retrieves a syringe.

"I desire that you follow that man inside the alley and inject him with this syringe. I then ask that you hand him the parchment and tell him that, if he fails to deliver the parchment to apartment 27 across the street, the poison inside the syringe will cause his internal organs to slowly dissolve into dust."

Revy, annoyed, asks, "Why can't one of your lackeys do it?" Luca, knocking off more ash from his cigarette, answers, "All my men are committed to other operations, related or otherwise." Revy, letting out a groan, responds. "Fine, give me the needle."

Luca grins ear to ear, smiling to the point of exposing teeth. "I never said that you, Revy, was assigned to do this." Rock turns his head around, slowly. "W…What?" is all he could mutter as Revy looks in a mixture of shock and rage. "You must give the man the instructions in English with a false Russian accent, preferably some Russian words mixed in. I provided the balaclava for you to mask your identity. Revy, your lack of Russian and your recognizable appearance makes you a poor actor for this scene. Furthermore…" Luca removes his sport jacket and holds it for Rock "wear this to disguise your office attire."

Revy grabs the sports jacket and yells "You sick fuck! You can't just use us like it's some fucking game!" Luca takes a drag from his cigarette and responds, "My apologies if I have squandered your time. I simply suppose that Mr. Goro Okajima will face the full brutality of the Japanese press…"

"I'LL DO IT! I'LL FUCKING DO IT!" Rock screams, grabbing the balaclava, pulling it down to cover his face. He grabs the parchment and places it inside his shirt pocket, followed by the still sealed syringe. He turns to his head to Revy, still holding the jacket, emotions ranging from shock, to rage, to worry. "Rock…?" She says. Rock turns toward the steering wheel, placing his hands on his forehead, rubbing the balaclava. "Rock?" She asks again. He grabs the sports jacket from her hands and hurriedly puts it on. "ROCK!" She yells, as Rock pushes the car door away and slams it behind. Revy turns to Luca, whose grin has yet to leave his face. "You sadistic bastard…" she hisses venomously. "You sick fuck." Luca simply turns to watch as Rock approaches the local, a Thai looking man with nearly no hair and a protruding gut. Revy closes her eyes, her veins bulging with anger. She forces herself to watch, out of concern for his safety. Forces herself watch Rock potentially kill a man. She grinds her teeth, wanting to shatter the window with her fist. ' _That sadistic snake is enjoying this…'_  Images of Luca's brains splattering over the rear side window entertain Revy. Luca reaches behind and unholsters a pistol. Revy hears this, placing her left hand near her right cutlass. Luca ejects the magazine, then puts it back in and slides the barrel back. Luca ejects the magazine a second time, then repeats the process, the only sound being made inside the car. This goes on for a third, then a fourth time, until Revy speaks out. "Luca. Sit on the other side. Now." Luca smirks and moves behind the driver seat, continuing his ritual of ejecting and placing back it the magazine, making Revy angrier. Shortly after this, a Thai man runs into the hood of the car, and turns to face Revy, his face in a crazed frenzy. He quickly regains his balance and runs toward the apartment across the street. Rock slowly, solemnly, walks toward the car, and open's the driver seat door. He sits down, silent for a few seconds, then shuts the car door and removes the balaclava. He blankly tosses the balaclava over his shoulder onto Luca's lap, followed by the sport's jacket.

Revy turns her head and stares into Rock's face, not saying a word. She surveys his eyes, blank, empty, emotionless. Her hands shake, her teeth grind, her blood vessels pulsate. This lasted for a minute until Rock broke the heavy silence. "There is an antidote…right?" Rock's eyes widen. "Luca, there is an antidote, correct?" Luca simply chuckles and responds "In the man's frenzied state, he will knock on the door of a Sicilian safe house and office of Fabrizio Ammassari. The man will possibly view the broken Consigliere as a guardian, out of desperation. That will be the case if the Sicilians refuse to let the courier leave as soon as he enters the apartment. This is one possible scene, the ideal scene, as the local may divulge that he was spoken to in Russian, enforcing the contents of the letter. The other scene would still get the message across, in which the man hands over the letter and runs away. Fortunately, both scenes suit this script."

Rock slams his hand on the wheel. "Is there an antidote?" Luca simply raises his sunglasses and stares outside the window. "Start driving." Rock's eyes widen "WHAT?" Luca repeats "Drive. Drive for Goro Okajima." Rock turns around and reaches for Luca's shirt collar. He grasps the collar and brings him closer "Tell me…What the fuck is going on over here? What is going on!" Luca burst out laughing. When finished laughing he smirks and calmly responds "It was only a shot of adrenaline."

Rock lets his grip go of Luca and quietly turns toward the wheel, the collar of Rock's shirt in a mess. "Where to?" Rock emotionlessly asks. "The Golden Swingin' Night Club," Luca responds, as Rock places hit foot on the gas pedal.

As they turn the corner, a single gunshot rings through the street, resonating from inside the apartment. Two more gun shots in quick succession follow, each shot elevating Luca's smile, his euphoria, his mania. "This is the reason for the brutal murder of Mrs. Ammassari. The rage that Fabrizio Ammassari must be feeling…I suggest that you drive with more haste, Rokuro." Luca lowers his sunglasses back to level, smirking. "The Jones Beach Causeway may be right in his path and his Sicilian temper will be none the wiser."

Rock parks the car in the street across from the night club. As he shuts off the engine, Rock asks "You were invited to a meeting with Balalaika here? Chang, Abrego, and Ronnie the Jaws too?" As Luca buttons his sports jacket, he answers "You are almost correct. Sadly, Mr. Ronald "Ronnie the Jaws" Cuccia will not be in attendance for this performance." Revy sits forward and stretches, saying "That note…it had the address to this club…" Luca simply smirks, exiting the car.

Luca calmly walks toward the entrance, flanked by Revy and Rock. As they near the entrance, guarded by two members of Hotel Moscow wearing suits, one of the Hotel Moscow guards stops Luca. "Izveniti, sir, Balalaika said you would arrive. I have to frisk you for weapons." Luca slowly retrieves his Beretta 92 and plops it into the Russian mobster's right hand. "I offered you my weapon as a show of courtesy, as I assure you that I have arrived at this meeting with no intention to kill the host or any of her invited guests. I also assure you that the guests that I have brought have established and amicable relationships with our host, Ms. Balalaika. It may be considered insulting to disrespect the trust established between these two parties." The Russian mobster conceals Luca's Beretta and responds. "My apologies, but I have my orders." As Luca and the Russian mobster converse, Balalaika spots Revy and Rock from inside the club.

"Revy. Yaponski. This is a surprise. And you must be Mr. Cavalcanti. This is very interesting. I allow them to pass, Private Anisimov," Balalaika says. Private Anisimov nods and steps aside, as Luca, Revy, and Rock follow Balalaika inside.

"So Ms. Balalaika, it is indeed true that Hotel Moscow is comprised of former Soviet marines and paratroopers." Luca asks. Balalaika nods as she walks and responds. "Yes, we fought in Afghanistan. Every one of us is a war veteran." The group reaches the lobby as Luca adds "My grandfather fought in WWII." Balalaika turns and asks "U.S. Forces?" "Italian partisans," Luca responds.

In the center of the lounge are two empty seats and two filled seats, occupied by Abrego and Chang. "You are excused," Luca muttered to Revy and Rock, who turned toward the bar. Rock and Revy prop themselves on a pair of bar stools as the Italian and Russian mob bosses take their respective seats. "Give us two beers, European, I don't care which," Revy requests the bartender. As the bartender walks several steps away, Revy whispers to Rock "I just hope Balalaika doesn't associate us with what is about to happen over here." Rock stares at the bartender, who is returning with a pair of black beer bottles. "I just don't understand what the Glico kidnapping has to do with this." The bartender calmly props the two beers on the counter and walks away. As Revy watches the bartender move away, she notices a nearby plate. Reaching for the plate, she pulls it closer and grabs a set of matches, placing them in her pocket.

"Now, we are gathered here today to address the arrival of a representative of a new organization," Balalaika addresses her guests, picking up a cigar from an ashtray. Abrego eyes Luca suspiciously, observing his movements. "Ey, jefe, who exactly do you represent?" Luca removes his sunglasses and places them inside his sports jacket. "Technically, I represent myself. However, I was ordered, and financially supported, to establish a branch in Roanapur for the 'Ndrangheta," Luca calmly answers, crossing his legs and cupping his hands over them.

Abrego slams his fist on the wood of his seat. "''Ndrangheta? What the fuck am I supposed to tell my Colombian friends in the FARC? That I went to a meeting with a backer of the fucking Autodefensas Campesinas de Choco y Antioquia?" Luca retrieves a cigarette from his pocket and lights it with a match. After blowing a stream of smoke, Luca responds "The incident revolving Rosarita Cisneros left several FARC soldiers in graves, soldiers that you, Abrego, personally requested. It is rather visible that relations between your cartel and the FARC have been found wanting. I have a proposal to you, an agenda on top of this simple round table discussion in which I justify moving to Roanapur." Luca takes a second drag from his cigarette. "I cannot act on behalf of the 'Ndrangheta in Colombia. However, this is a favor for my financial backers, those ranging from North America to Calabria. The ACCA is poised to expand in the foreseeable future, with Colombian President Aquino's blessing. This expanded ACCA, which will encompass all of Colombia, will be a significant fighting force against the leftist FARC. Now, my financial backers have assured me that Santino Marquez Garcia, an 'Ndrangheta supporter and a powerful man in the ACCA, will ensure protection and access of Colombia's wealth of cocaine. My proposal, or perhaps, the proposal of my backers, is that your cartel and my associates in Colombia strike a deal, as your cartel supports the ACCA for a change." Luca knocks ash off his cigarette, as Abrego absorbs all the information. "Manisarera Cartel working with ACCA? Manisarera Cartel working with 'Ndrangheta? Loco…muy loco. How do you expect us to collaborate when your 'backers' are in competition with us?" Luca takes another drag from his cigarette. "Details can always be ironed out in further stages. I was simply told to relay the information that such a deal exists." Abrego runs his chin and responds "Interesting…very interesting. I will relay this information to my superiors. Gracias, Mr?" Abrego extends his hand to Luca, who shakes it. "Cavalcanti. Luca Cavalcanti."

"Good. As I was going to say, before being rudely interrupted…" Balalaika pauses to give a dirty stare toward Abrego "Mr. Cavalcanti has arrived here to expand 'Ndrangheta influence into Thailand. Now as this may…'interfere' with the civility of this meeting, the Sicilian Mafia was not invited to attend. To put it frankly, in light of the backfired plot perpetuated by the previous Sicilian Don of Roanapur, Verrocchio, and the recent acts of…'aggression' by the current Sicilian Don of Roanapur, Ronald Cuccia, it is believed that the Sicilian Mafia has proven to be an unreliable 'shareholder' in our business here."

"As well as the current legal troubles plaguing the Sicilians back in their island," Chang speaks.

Luca nods. "It is quite true that the reputation the Sicilians have built over the centuries is now becoming a nuisance rather than a strength. It is intriguing to see how Sicily's fiery foundation will withstand and react to rising pressure. I must commend you, Ms. Balalaika, for your confidence in leaving the front door so open."

Balalaika's eyebrow rises. "It is preferable to believe that no one is insane enough to make an attempt on Roanapur's largest benefactors. Are you trying to suggest something, Mr. Cavalcanti?"

Revy and Rock keep their backs to the meeting, sipping on beer. "Hmm. Krusovice it's called. Not bad, not bad," Revy mutters. In the distance a car reaches a screeching halt. "Rock. Keep your head down," Revy whispers, right hand on her left holster. Two shots ring out from outside, followed by three more. All of the mob bosses and their bodyguards draw their weapons, except for Luca and Rock, who lack guns. Club staff and the bartender run toward the back as Luca hugs the entrance to the hallway out of the club. "Balalaika! Give me my son back, you fucking bitch!" A man yells in a thick Sicilian accent. The man, medium height, clean shaven with slick black hair combed to the side, enters the club. As the man, Fabrizio Ammassari, reaches out with his gun, Luca grabs his arm. Fabrizio's gun, a Beretta 92, discharges a bullet diagonally toward the roof as Luca offers a sharp punch into Fabrizio's lower back. The Calabrian then takes out Fabrizio's legs with a kick and pins him to the ground. Luca then pushes his left knee onto Fabrizio's neck and pries Fabrizio's grip on the gun with surgical patience, finger by finger. The gun goes off once more, breaking a window, as Luca successfully disarms Fabrizio.

"Testa di merda (shithead)!" Fabrizio curses under his breath as he squirms underneath Luca. "Fucking let go of me!" Balalaika walks up to Fabrizio and Luca. "Well, well. I see you have some ability in combat. You are certainly full of surprises," she says to Luca, stepping over Fabrizio's fidgeting body. "Kak nashe lyudi?" (How are our people?) Balalaika yells toward the exit. A bald Russian mobster steps into the club and responds "Private Anisimov is still alive, barely, bleeding a lot. We put him in car and rushed him to vrach (doctor). Private Zaitsev is dead." Tension swims throughout Balalaika's body. "Spasibo, Baretsky. Seal the club doors and clean the mess." Baretsky nods and heads toward the exit. Balalaika turns toward Fabrizio, his face barely off the ground. She takes a step toward him, her right foot inches from Fabrizio's face. "Zoccola (bitch/sewer rat)! Fucking whore!" Fabrizio's face flashes red in fury. He summons all of his strength to spit in Balalaika's direction, hitting her right shoe. Balalaika responds by swinging her right foot back, and then smashing it into Fabrizio's mouth, knocking loose several teeth. She then reveals a weathered Makarov pistol, adding "You come here, disturb my meeting, accuse me of I am not exactly certain what, and KILL…MY MEN…and you have the sovist (conscience) to spit…on me...". Fabrizio spits out a spray of blood and a few loose teeth. "You think this is some game, you Russian whore. You kidnap…my son…my Luigi. Kill my Teresa. You didn't even have the fucking manners to send your demands. You will pay for this…zoccola. Give me my son back or I will make fucking sure the Sicilians turn Hotel Moscow into fucking WW2 Stalingrad." Balalaika launches a kick into Fabrizio's gut, causing Fabrizio to spit out more blood and broken teeth. "I know you…you are Ronnie's Consigliere…" Balalaika responds.

Luca, still pinning Fabrizio to the ground, looks up and interjects "Ms. Balalaika, perhaps I may pry the meaning of all of this out of Fabrizio. After all, we speak the same language. I will simply require some rope, or any other form of restraint, and a heavy, wooden chair." Balalaika eyes Luca suspiciously, drowning out Fabrizio's ballad of English and Italian swears. She looks ahead, staring at the audience around her, singling out one of her men. "Vaynshteyn, bring some verovka (rope) and one of the wooden chairs from the second floor." Vaynshteyn, a medium built man with cheap, circular glasses, a bony face and thin blonde hair tied in a pony tail, nods and heads toward the back.

The crowd of people, comprised of Balalaika, Abrego, Chang, Luca, and their associates, form a circle around the center as Vaynshteyn binds Fabrizio's legs to a large wooden chair. He then does the same for Fabrizio's torso, tying two lines of rope right above the Sicilian's torso. Luca steps forward as Vaynshteyn gauges the strength of the rope, nodding to himself in approval. Vaynshteyn nods silently at Luca and steps toward Balalaika's side. Luca extends his right hand and feels the frame of the wooden chair, the fabric of the rope. "Hello, signore Ammassari," Luca mutters to Fabrizio. Fabrizio looks up and ask "The fuck you know me, pazzo (idiot)?" Luca slaps Fabrizio with the palm of his right hand "Now, now. This is not the time for foul language." Fabrizio spits out a wad of saliva and blood and responds "I don't give a fuck. I just want my Luigi back, you bastardi. I just want my son back…" Fabrizio momentarily calms down, until images of his murdered wife flood his brain, refueling his rage. "Spineless motherfuckers, all of you! Kill my wife and then act like nothing happened!" Fabrizio struggles furiously in the chair, futilely trying to break free. "It seems the reverse seems to be evident. It seems that the Sicilians sent you, bizarrely, to disrupt this meeting under the guise of an apparent kidnapping. Doing so, along with your position, would put you in a situation where a 'deal' could be made, perhaps Ms. Balalaika being tricked into wasting resources to find your allegedly missing son, Luigi. Or perhaps you came here, spouting this story, with the intent of using your position as a means of being held hostage. You desire to eavesdrop and/or disrupt this meeting, uncover the nature of it, and relay the truth of it to your superiors when they pay for your release." Fabrizio tries to kick Luca but is restrained by the rope. "Stop trying to screw with me! I received your note, or whoever's note…Balalaika's note, that my son was taken by Hotel Moscow. All it had was the location of this club. Fuck, you all saw the news…the Sicilian tourists being killed."

Luca smirks and retorts, "Notes can and may always be fabricated if done convincingly enough, and while it is indeed true that the attack on the Sicilian tourists became a news headline, there was very little information on who the Sicilians were. It is very possible that you are using the incident against a group of actual tourists renting a home as a cover. But this is going nowhere…all will be revealed when the right pressure is applied. If you are indeed speaking truthfully, then you will not crack under the pressure of proper interrogation."

Fabrizio laughs, exhausted and broken. "I know what this is, pazzo. You don't believe a damn bit of that shit. Me, Ronnie's advisor, on some fucking inside job…mission, whatever. That is a fucking joke, a Hollywood script some coked out director tossed in the trash. You don't want information out of me, you and the Russian just want to make a nice, little fucking example out of pissed off Fabrizio. It is all nicely planned out, ehh?" Fabrizio turns his head sideways, trying to make eye contact with Balalaika. "Fucking cold, zoccola. Wiping out my family, kidnapping my son. Pushing all my buttons so I could shoot up your men, so you could fuck with me and get away with it, get a 'justified' war going. Well, vaffanculo (go fuck yourself)!" Balalaika stares blankly, pondering over what Fabrizio is saying. The anger felt over the death of Zaitsev pushes her to disregard Fabrizio's words as the ranting of a cornered animal, grasping for straws.

Luca retrieves a small, maroon colored 'wallet', opening the clip on it. He stares at the wallet, containing ten new, metallic sewing needles. "I don't think you are paying attention to the right person, paisan," Luca emotionlessly says. He pulls a single needle out, and sets the wallet on the ground. "What the fuck are you going to do with? Knit me a fucking scarf?" Fabrizio responds. Luca places his left hand on Fabrizio's left shoulder, and slowly slides down. "Are you some kind of finocchio (queer)? What the fuck is this?" Fabrizio interjects. Luca slowly slides down until he finds his target, Fabrizio's left pinky. Everyone stares attentively at Luca's every action, as he slowly pries the left pinky upward. Fabrizio's face turns from rage, to confusion, to horror and mortal terror, as Luca carefully positions the needle under his fingernail, and then shoves the needle into his flesh.

The shrill of screaming engulfs the club, as the shrill of the past engulfs Balalaika.

_January 13, 1988. Gardez, Afghanistan_

_A man walks into an old shack, wearing a round, woven hat and a blueish pancho-like cloak, carrying an AK-47 on his shoulder. He sits down on a wooden chair, facing a Russian woman tied to an identical chair. Between them stands a table that appears to have been made in the same factory as the chair. On the table lies an assortment of knives, pliers, liquid solutions, rags, and small sheets of glass. The man, a Mujahedeen fighter, reads a parchment in Persian with a direct Russian translation. "Five days ago, you attempted to parachute onto what has been called 'Hill 3234', as part of an infidel attack to open the road between Gardez and Khost. While attempting to land a kilometer away from the main force, whether through poor fortune or the judgment of Allah, you were spotted and fired upon by a Mujahedeen sniper. The sniper pierced your parachute and hardened your landing, which resulted in a considerable injury to your right knee." Balalaika grimaces in pain as she tries to move her right leg. "As the battle became a success for the invaders, my comrades snatched a victory of their own with a prized Russian sniper. And a woman too, might I add. The thought of a woman fighting in battle…amusing. It makes me very intrigued; especially to see such a beautiful woman, for a European, carry such a rifle with such skill. So many men felled by your rifle, a rifle that will now certainly return the favor on you invaders and the pigs in the Republic of Afghanistan. How does it make you feel, to know that your prized tool is now in the hands of your greatest foe?" Balalaika blankly stares, not speaking a word. "Ahh, silence, what a strange state of being, in a war no less. As bullets soar like eagles, thundering the hills with their roar, you remain silent, an aberration, an anomaly. Perhaps…" the Mujahedeen fighter picks up a sharpened bamboo sliver "Perhaps I should loosen your tongue, draw some noise..."_

"Argh! Stop! Stop! Favore (Please)! Favore!" Fabrizio cries, as the fifth needle punctures his thumb. "Who are you? Who the fuck are you? Five Families? The L.A. Milano family? Gangitano's Crew in Australia?"

"The 'Ndrangheta," Luca answers with a smile.

"The 'Ndrangheta? Fuck…" Fabrizio meekly muttered. Tears of agony roll down his cheeks, filling him with shame. His pride shatters as his entire body shakes in agony and torment. "Please stop…" Fabrizio pathetically mutters, as Luca turns toward the thumb of his right hand. His murdered wife, his kidnapped son, his pride shattered and cast away as he pathetically pleads for mercy, his cries as sharp and tormenting as the needles piercing his fingers. A thunder strike of agony hit, followed by another. The cries of suffering fill the ears of all, except Balalaika. For her, cries of agony and shame reappear like a bat out of hell. Sergeant Boris turns to look at Balalaika, and immediately understands what is happening. He considers reaching for his Makarov, but hesitates, unsure if this is how Balalaika wishes this to end. His muscles grow tense as he observes Balalaika's face, frozen, eyes wide open, as if each puncture of the needle struck her as well.

After the eighth needle nestled deep under his nail, Fabrizio clamped down hard on his tongue. He tries to sever it, so that he could bleed out to death instead, but only cries when he realizes that he does not have enough teeth to do so.

As the tenth and final needle pierces Fabrizio's flesh, the broken Sicilian heaves out a pathetic cry for mercy, his face a mess of blood and tears. All stare at the spectacle, frozen in their tracks, Balalaika trying to hide her shaking hands. "Diavolo (devil). You are the devil…" Fabrizio meekly mutters.

Luca reaches one again inside his pocket, retrieving a small glass vial containing some liquid. He shakes it once, the sound of the vial resonating through Balalaika's head.

'" _Scream you infidel! Scream!" The Mujahedeen torturer yells as bamboo slivers hang from under Balalaika's nails. She couldn't scream any more, for her throat burns in agony. The torturer retrieves a glass container, giving it a single shake. He runs his left hand over Balalaika's right cheek, sliding down to her neck, before tearing off the top of her uniform, revealing her bra. "Such fair skin on the lady. Such fair skin on the battlefield. How contradictory. How it must be…corrected…" Balalaika was suddenly able to scream again as the first drops of acid burn through her face._

And then…she snaps. Balalaika snaps.

She unholsters her Makarov pistol and aims at the circus before her. Luca would be ideal choice her, if it was not for the fact that he is her guest, and that she is under the watch of the Roanapur elite. Nevertheless, she has drawn her gun. If she backs down, it may be seen as a sign of weakness. If she kills Luca, she will no longer be considered a trusted figure. As such, she chooses the third, final option.

*BANG*

The bullet of the Makarov pistol flies through the center and lodges itself firmly in Fabrizio's skull, euthanizing the tortured man. All but Luca stare in stunned silence, who breaks the silence himself. "My, my. How brash! I was simply taking an intermission to savor some excellent wine." Luca opens the cap of the vial and takes a sip of the wine, a red wine. Balalaika stares in silent anger, angry at appearing weak and exploitable in the presence of the Roanapur elite. Her anger could only skyrocket after what Luca does next.

"Such splendid wine! Truly fantastic. One mustn't leave this earth without sampling wine as amazing as this. Here, Fabrizio, a parting gift for the ferry," Luca sadistically adds, pouring the red wine down the right side of Fabrizio's face. He then turns Fabrizio around to display his masterpiece to the crowd, as everyone silent gasps at the end result. The red wine mimicking Balalaika's scars as the corpse of the Sicilian sits limp.

Balalaika could not hold herself any longer.

"Pizdetz (fucked up shit). Polni pizdetz (total fuck up). Ti balnoi (You are sick). Balnoi mudak (sick dickhead). Blayt (fuck). Blayt. BLAYT VSHO YOPONA (Fuck, everything's fucked up)!"

Balalaika curses to herself as well, angry to have exposed an exploitable weakness to everyone around her. ' _He won. This was all his idea.'_ Balalaika thinks to herself. _'The genius of it…the depravity. And he knew. Somehow he knew. About me. About Afghanistan.'_

"This party is over. I apologize for this commotion, but we must now take our leave," Balalaika finally continues, her voice raspy from her yelling. Balalaika does not dare to watch the guests depart, as Boris and Vaynshteyn glare at Luca departing with Revy and Rock.

The trio returns to their original seating inside the Town Car. They sit down in complete silence for a minute until Rock breaks the peace.

"You mentioned the Glico Morinaga case simply to prep me mentally for this job," Rock says matter-of- factly. Luca only responds with a smile.

"And the Sicilians were not the target. Balalaika was. You were trying to extort that reaction out of her. To both expose a weakness in her and to serve as a possible warning to Hotel Moscow. You also wanted to start a gang war between the Sicilians and the Russians, knowing full well that the Sicilians will be wiped out, allowing your organization to fill the void with leverage over Hotel Moscow. You managed to chain together all of these results into one set of gambits. To facilitate these gambits, you must have access to a very powerful and well-connected information broker, and as such, you spend a considerable portion of your profits to receive a steady stream of information."

Luca bursts out laughing. "Correct on all accounts Mr. Okajima! You are very sharp, as I have heard from my sources. My organization played its cards well."

Rock quickly interjects. "You keep speaking of your organization, and the interests of the organization, yet you specifically described the 'Ndrangheta as a collection of virtually independent mafia clans. The only thing keeping you connected to the clan in Vancouver is possibly a loan that they gave you to start your organization. Otherwise, your interests are the organization's interests. Your motives are the organization's motives. And in truth, you couldn't give a damn about your 'benefactors'."

For the first time since he arrived, Luca felt shock and surprise. "Very, very sharp. Perhaps you are even sharper then I originally pegged you to be. Intriguing…"

Revy snaps. "We did your fucking work! We nearly pissed off the Sicilians and quite possibly pissed off Hotel Moscow. Consider yourself very lucky that you can help out Rock's brother, or else you'd need a third eye after I make a new socket in your forehead! Give us our fucking pay already and leave us alone!"

"This plan is actually not finished yet, as I need you to put the final touches in triggering the war between the Sicilians and the Russians…so I cannot yet commit my resources to protecting your brother…" Revy pulls her cutlass out. "Wrong answer, motherfucker. Better hope they serve wine in whatever hell you'll end up in." Revy turns around and aims the cutlass directly in front of Luca, who simply laughs. "Signora, have you forgotten how easily I disarmed old Fabrizio? And if you should so shoot me as I am, then poor Goro Okajima will receive a beating from the press so impressive that his only hope of surviving is to join the net café homeless of Japan. Ohh the shame that would bring to the Okajima name!"

"Revy…" Rock mutters, staring deeply at her. Revy turns to face Rock, grudgingly understanding. She holsters her cutlass and returns to her seat. Luca continues to smile maniacally. "However, I believe you are deserving of the reward, so I bestow you…100,000, American."

Revy and Rock stare at each other in confusion. "Where is the 100,000?" they asked in unison. Luca feels the leather seating and responds "According to my accountant, this vehicle was purchased for $15,000, plus $85,000 to hire an American provider to professionally bulletproof it, an American car. Now if my math works out correctly, that will be 100,000, in American engineering." Revy grinds her teeth in fury, contemplating putting a bullet in Luca's skull regardless. Seeing this, Luca grabs his ant farm and opens the nearest car door to exit. Before leaving, he concludes "I shall phone your office tomorrow around sunset." To Revy's and Rock's relief, the long-haired puppeteer closes the car door and moves toward what used to be Fabrizio's car. Entering the car, Luca finds the keys still in the ignition and departs, which brings Revy and Rock to sigh in relief.

"I am hungry and I need to use the bathroom. Any suggestions for dinner here?" Rock asks Revy. "Someone opened a Mexican restaurant called 'Oaxaca!' a few blocks away," Revy nonchalantly responds. Rock silently thanks her and turns to engine on, departing.

"Here's 200 Bhat, I will have whatever you order," Rock says to Revy as they enter the small restaurant. Inside, an elderly man that reminds Revy of Praiyachat works the bar. The restaurant itself is decorated in a variety of Mexico-based memorabilia, a bust of Montezuma, several wrestling masks, a large flag of Mexico hanging from the room, portraits of Pancho Villa and Emiliano Zapata, a jersey of Luis Hernandez. "Where is the bathroom?" Rock asked the elderly man, who he assumed to be the owner. The elderly man motions with his head as Revy surveys the menu for ideal food for takeout.

Rock enters a small enclosing where he is greeted by two doors. The one on the right says 'Damas" which Rock immediately understood to be the women's restroom. The one on the left says 'Italy/Bulgaria 2-1. Brazil/Sweden 1-0', which Rock understood just as quickly to be the men's.

"Here, was in the mood for shrimp enchiladas, no beans. Best way to make sure no human bits got in the food," Revy hands Rock his dinner in a takeout box as they close the door to the Town Car. Both set their dinner on the dashboard in front of them. "Thanks, Revy," Rock nods, not bothered to ask for the change. They each retrieve a cigarette and place one in each mouth as Revy fishes out a set of matches. She strikes a match and lights Rock's cigarette, then tosses the match out of the window. She strikes a second match and lights her own, and disposes of the match the same way. Rock steps on the gas pedal and begins the long drive to their motel room. The sun sets behind them, but the orange barely seeps through the blanket of clouds surrounding Roanapur. Rock drives slowly in silence for a few minutes before Revy, sighing and stressing, breaks the silence. "Turn on the radio or something, this silence is pissing me off," she says, taking a drag from her cigarette. Rock turns the radio on, which is set to silent. He turns the sound dial slightly to receive a 50's radio station.

' _When love came and hit me in the eye. Flash! Bam! Alakazam! Out of an orange colored sky!'_

"Can you change it to something I could actually listen to?" Revy groaned.

Rock turns the knob, catching some static followed by what appears to be a Thai news station. More static followed until, for what felt like an eternity and a split second all at once, a sound appeared that certainly agreed with the occupants.

" _All Along the Watchtower. Hendrix. Haven't listened to him in a while,"_ Revy thought to herself, letting the stress flow off her shoulders.

The sounds of the guitar ease the tension inside, almost slowing time. To Revy's surprise, Rock spoke.

"There must be some kind of way outta here…said the joker to the thief. There's too much confusion. I can't get no relief," Rock smiles, enjoying himself. "Businessmen there, they drink my wine. Plow men dig my earth. None will level…on the line. Nobody of it is worth…heyyy!"

Amused, Revy smiles, mildly surprised. She takes the lead.

"No reason to get excited…the thief he kindly spoke. There are many here among us, who feel that life is but a joke. But you and I, we been through that…" Revy awkwardly pauses. "And this is not our fate. So let us…stop talking falsely now. The hour is getting late…hey."

Revy and Rock stare at each other, smiling. The riffs of the guitar slow the passage of time, sending vibrations throughout their body. All of Roanapur around them stands still. For them, for this moment, all that existed was themselves and Hendrix. Facing the road ahead, they finish together.

"All along the watchtower, princes kept the view. While all the women came and went. Barefoot servants too. Outside in the cold distance…a wild cat did growl. Two riders were approaching, and the wind, began to howl. Heyy!"

And immediately after they finish, the rain fell down Roanapur with thunderous zeal, prompting Rock and Revy to close their windows.

"I never knew you listened to Hendrix," Revy says, impressed.

"Hendrix helped me learn English. Listening to his music as I drifted through college…through my job. His words, his melodies occupying my mind when I endured the worst of my job. Coming to my home to listen to recordings, his tapes, they would be the highlight of my day. Hendrix, The Rolling Stones, The Who. They are the reason my English isn't complete garbage. Never listened to The Doors and The Blue Oyster Cult until you, Revy, introduced me to them, getting American music from the '60s and '70s wasn't easy in Japan. Never got into the Japanese rock groups either, not sure why." Rock reminisces on the few pleasant memories he had living in Japan. Another Hendrix track plays. "'Hush Now'. Ha, I love his guitar play in this one," Revy speaks, letting the sweet melodies seep inside her body. "This sounds like one of his oldest ones, before the Experience," Revy adds.

"Two songs in a row? Is this a Hendrix marathon? I certainly wouldn't mind," Rock asks as he pulls in front of the motel, matching the address to the one Revy gave him as they left the Mexican restaurant. The rain increases in its intensity as the Town Car stops, the only visible car on the street for blocks.

The guitar continues to play as Revy and Rock silently agreed to eat their dinner in the car. "Damn, we forgot forks. And ashtrays," Rock partially groans, the music almost subduing him. Revy opens the seat compartment in front of her, finding it mostly empty aside from an ammo clip for a Beretta 92 and a slightly dirty ashtray. She sets the ashtray on the space between them, above the dashboard, and places her cigarette on it. Rock follows suit. "Looks like we are using our hands," Revy says, setting her takeout box on her knees and opening the cover. A burrito sits plump, covered in melted cheddar cheese, chopped lettuce, and diced tomatoes. She touches the burrito, still somewhat warm, and raises it, sending lettuce and tomatoes tumbling back onto the box. As she takes her first bite, Rock uncovers his own dinner, a copy of Revy's dinner.

The guitar play fades away from the car, to be replaced by a man with a Seattle accent. The DJ answers Rock's earlier question " _For those of you just tuning, you ought to know what day it is. For those of you who don't, it's December 1, 1997. Still don't got a clue? The 30 year anniversary of 'Axis: Bold As Love'. The Jimi Hendrix marathon continues with this legendary single, done by many various artists over the decades. And while he isn't the original, his version is the standard. "Hey Joe." Enjoy."_

"Heh," Rock laughs to himself "December 1…" Revy snaps open a bottle of locally produced rum called Sailor Jerry that she purchased at the restaurant. "What is so special about December 1?" Revy asks, trying to place the bottle in the cup holder between them. To her surprise, it actually fit inside, albeit barely, sitting perfectly next to a bottle of Bacardi that they purchased earlier. Rock turns to face Revy, a pained smile on his face. "Five years ago, this was supposed to be the day of my wedding." Revy gags on a shrimp and rice chunk. "You were engaged?" Revy starts laughing. She pulls out the rum and takes a small gulp, straight from the bottle. The bitter taste that she has grown very accustomed to burns down her throat. "I can't ever imagine you engaged. That is hilarious. What happened, did the idea of living out that painting of the Amish couple scare her away?" The rum travels through her chest, warming her.

Jimi Hendrix's voice fills in the silence. Rock slowly drops his burrito down, taking a slow moment to chew both his food and his thoughts.

"The words of Hendrix swirl in Rock's head as he answers.

"We tried to start a family first...We tried…and…for some reason, nothing happened." Rock pauses, stretches his neck. "We went to see a doctor…and he ran tests on us. Said I was the problem, way too low sperm count,…blamed it on the cigarettes, I blamed it on the stress…" Rock breathes a heavy sigh. "I don't know. I still loved her, or at least, I think I loved her…I wanted to be with her anyway…I didn't understand why it would change anything. Maybe she told her father, he was always skeptical, wanted a lineage more than anything. Maybe he convinced her, forced her to change her mind. Maybe she didn't see me the same way. Either way, it ended and we never saw each other again." Rock stares blankly at his partially bitten burrito. Sighing once more, he adds "Ever since that day, I felt as if I was only drifting through life. As if I was nothing more than a gear being spun around by other gears. Maybe I was lying to myself the whole time when I was with her…I don't know…"

Revy turns stone dead, feeling strangely guilty. She never realized until now that he, that Rock, that he himself has baggage he carries around. That he himself has memories he desperately tries to bury, memories stuck to the bottom that she disturbed. Memories that kicked off the sand and floated back to the surface.

"Sorry about that, Rock," Revy awkwardly says. "That is horrible". Rock turns to her, staring at her blankly. He reaches for the Bacardi and takes a swallow of his own, the surge of warmth in his chest easing him. He places the rum back on the holder and stares into his dinner.

The DJ returns.  _"You all have been waiting for this one. Straight from Electric Ladyland, not the slight return, but the original. "Voodoo Chile", enjoy"._

"Revy…," Rock solemnly responds "I have a confession to make." Revy eyes light up as she focuses on the words coming out of his mouth. "The reason I took this job is, as I mentioned, I do not want to carry the baggage of knowing I possibly drove my brother into a homeless shelter," he continues. "Yeah, you said that already…" Revy responds, unsure of the meaning of Rock's confession. Rock takes another bite, cutting through a pair of shrimp. "Back in Japan, when I left to see my family while you played Deadwood with some children…," Rock pauses. "Which you promised that you will NEVER tell anyone…," Revy interjects, blushing from embarrassment. Her response gives Rock a meek smirk. "I told you that my family was not home…that was a lie," Rock forces himself to say. He goes for a second, larger gulp of rum. "When I rang…Goro opened the door…he looked at me for a few seconds…and," Rock arcs his head back, trying to sink into his seat. "What happened?" Revy asks, concerned. Rock turns toward her and finishes "He genuinely asked 'Who are you? I don't want to buy whatever you are selling'". Rock grinds his teeth, continuing "Now, I understand that it has been a year, but I didn't die. I disappeared…and he does not even recognize his own brother. My fucking picture is hanging above the fireplace!" Rock yells, angry. "It was just like before I left. Both him and my parents. Had my father or mother opened the door, I can promise you I would get the same response…I needed to get away from that. I never want to see Goro again, or my old home again, and I am doing all of this for Luca so I could never have to think about him again…" Rock finishes, heaving deep breathes.

Hendrix's lyrics in the song echo Rock's words, Rock's confession. He resumes eating his burrito, taking a slow bite into the cheese, wheat, and rice. Revy rubs her forehead, feeling very guilty and very strange. Her frustration turns into a meek smile as she turns to Rock. "It's okay…we will get this done. Your brother will be left alone and you won't ever have to think of him again. I'm here with you…partner." Rock stares blankly at his dinner once more, not turning to face Revy. He looks upwards, toward the ceiling, and closes his eyes, responding "…thank you Revy. That means a lot to me." Revy's eyes drift downward, deep into thought. She takes another swallow of the rum. The smoke from the cigarettes shrouds the steady rhythm of rain beating on the glass, putting them both at ease.

The two finish the remainder of their meals in relative silence, taking minor sips from the rum in turns. Finishing, they roll open the windows and toss their boxes out, letting some rain enter the car and clouds of smoke leave. After rolling shut their windows, they retrieve their respective cigarettes and sink into their seats. "Voodoo Chile" ends, to be replaced by the next track without interruption. "Purple Haze" by Jimi Hendrix plays next.

The reviving cloud of cigarette smoke smothers their already drunk bodies. They turn to face each other, smiling drunkenly at each other as 'Purple Haze' is played.

Rock glances at the bottle of Bacardi rum, amazed that a fifth of it is already gone. The two have alternated between the two bottles, with Revy finishing the locally produced rum and moving onto the Bacardi. The combination of rum and smoke makes him, and Revy, lightheaded, at peace. Revy turns slightly, leaning on her left shoulder rather then her back. Rock expects her to say something, but she simply stays silent, smiling, drunk.

Rock, staring at Revy, takes a deep drag on his cigarette.

Rock releases a cloud of smoke that floats diagonally across the car. Revy follows the cloud with her eyes, watching it mingle with the rest of the smoke. After 'Purple Haze' concludes, it is replaced by another song, and then another song. For what felt like a calm, pleasant eternity, they slouched in the car, not speaking a word. Their eyes, their face, their bodies, it was enough to communicate. Pausing a moment to think, to recollect, Rock realized that this day has both been one of the worst and one of the best days of his life. And then the current Hendrix song fades away. "If 6 was 9" by Jimi Hendrix suddenly plays.

Rock thinks to himself "' _If 6 was 9'…favorite one of them all"_. He takes a slow sip of rum.

Rock opens his mouth. "Now if a 6 uh…turned out to be a 9…I don't mind…I don't mind…" Revy chuckles, causing Rock to drunkenly roll his eyes. "Revy, that's not what it's about…," he says.

Revy smirks again and drunkenly asks "Well then, Rocky baby, what you think is it 'bout?" Rock arcs his head toward Revy "It's about how the whole world can be upside down. How the sky can be the sea, and the sea can be the sky. How left becomes right and right becomes left, and no matter what...he…we…we will still be the same."

Revy simply stares at Rock, drunkenly amused. She takes a final drag of her cigarette, puffing smoke as she drives it into the ashtray. Rock raises the rum and realizes that the two have been dangerously close to the halfway point. He smirks and drinks anyway, placing it back in the cup holder. Rock then takes a final drag from his cigarette, as the music largely stops, aside from faded guitar riffs and Hendrix whispers in.

They both smile at the music, staring at the car roof. The original instruments slowly fade out as a Native American flute fades in, becoming more dominate, it's sharp melody raising their heartbeat. They both reach for the rum at the same time, their fingers fitting inside the gaps. Rock and Revy slowly turn to face each other, smiling, drunk, content. They do not even hear the next song playing, just fixated on each other's faces, ensnared. Ensnared, encased like statues. They look deep into each other's eyes, eyes that have gone red from the smoke. Finally, Rock speaks.

"I think we had enough. Let's get inside while we are still able to walk," Rock speaks. Revy slowly responds "Yeaaa," as she grabs the rum and opens the door into the pouring rain. The smoke streaks out, as the vapors are shot by a barrage of rain drops. The sudden coolness of the rain brings some sense of awareness back into Revy, who stumbles drunkenly around the car. Rock opens his door and fumbles to lock the car door, drunk as well. He is able, however, to carry Revy on his shoulders, carrying her up the wooden stairs into the second floor of the motel. Revy, soaked, drunk, almost delirious, says "This feels like a fuckin' religious experience!" Rock smirks, signaling with his left hand that he needs the key to their room. Revy points with the bottle of rum that it is in her left, front pocket. Rock fishes for it, their faces barely an inch apart. Finding the key, he opens the door and carries Revy inside, who grabs onto a drawer. She places the bottle of rum on the table. Leaving Revy to balance herself, Rock shuts the door, the sound of the rain muffled. He turns around to find their bathroom necessities laid out in an opened suitcase, along with a pair of laundry bags full of clothes that they delayed to fold. "Thanks Dutch," is all Revy could mutter as she stumbles onto the bed, still soaked. Rock removes his tie and unbuttons his soaked shirt as Revy kicks off her shoes and takes off her denim shorts, revealing her black underwear. She removes her two pistols and props them by a desk lamp, stretching to place them. Rock changes into a pair of worn shorts and the Hawaiian shirt that Revy gave him in what felt likes decades ago. Walking around in the same socks he wore during the day, he collapses face first into the pillow, as Revy turns on her side. They both smile, content, as they pass out on the bed.

 


	4. Arrivederci, My Good Friend Mussolini

Four men in overalls perform various menial tasks in the rear exterior of a fruit and vegetable market. One of them, wearing a bowling cap and sporting a five o' clock shadow, slowly moves a large crate titled 'Cuccia Whole Foods' onto a flatbed truck. "Ey! How many more crates to go?" the man yells across the area, an enclosing surrounded by chain link fences and a few driveways. A goateed man smoking a cigarette, dressed in denim jeans and a green sweater that says 'Cuccia Whole Foods' in white letters, yells back. "C'mon Niccolo, you lazy pazzo! What, heavy lifting too good for ya, mister club bouncer?" Niccolo wheezes, holding his knees. "One minute I'm beating on shit-faced fucks and fucking shit-faced tourists, and next, I'm hauling fucking bananas. Why did Fabrizio have to go and get himself clipped, eh? Now all of us are on red fucking alert. Tell me, Vito, fucking why?" Vito rolls his eyes and tosses his cigarette away. Walking toward Niccolo, he yells "How the fuck do you expect to get yourself made if you can't even put some good fucking work in, eh?" Talking with his hands, he points at the truck "Paisan, I've been hauling shit in Sicily since I was 15. Never fucking complained, did my job, been a good earner. Still am, that's how I got made, not like a lazy sack of shit like you!" Niccolo rolls his eyes and waves Vito off, which irritates Vito. "Hey, hey, hey! You don't fucking wave me off, I wave YOU OFF! Ya understand?" As Niccolo, tired and annoyed, prepares to turn around to fight with the made man, a figure approaches from the driveway.

"Anyone ordered large pepperoni pie?" the man yelled across the enclosing. Niccolo and Vito approach, as the other three associates stare in confusion. "Hey, I didn't order lunch. Niccolo, did you?" Niccolo shrugs his shoulders, as the delivery boy, a man in his 40s, blonde and carrying a duffle bag on his shoulders, whom they just noticed was wearing sunglasses, opens the pizza box. "Here, compliments of Balalaika." The delivery boy takes out an MP5, dropping the pizza box on the ground. A pair of quick, controlled bursts drill through Niccolo and Vito before they could draw their weapons. Niccolo drops to the ground mortally wounded, coughing blood as Vito collapses stone dead. The other associates unholster their pistols and open fire on the delivery boy, who immediately takes cover behind a green dumpster as bullets rain on it. Two of the overall clad mobsters keep suppressing fire on the dumpster as the third approaches from the side, Beretta 92 in hand. The flanking mobster climbs onto the dumpster as the delivery boy presses against it. Hearing this, the delivery boy immediately aims upward and fires a controlled burst as the mafioso showed his face, three bullets piercing his skull. A ray of blood and brain matter sprays upward as the Sicilian gangster falls backward off the dumpster, dead before he hits the ground. Placing the duffle bag by the dumpster, the delivery boy runs out of cover, firing off the remainder of his ammo clip to suppress their fire. He takes cover by a row of crates and fishes for a second ammo clip. Replacing the ammo clip, he notices Niccolo in front of him, still alive, bleeding heavily from the stomach. Niccolo draws his pistol, a Beretta 92. Struggling to aim his pistol, Niccolo utters "You sly fucker," and is responded to with a burst of gunfire, killing him. The delivery boy arches his head up, sighing, readying his submachine gun. He strafes a few steps to the left, intending to move from his last seen position, and pops out of cover. He spots a man out of cover, by the truck, and immediately unloads a volley of bullets, knocking the man to the ground. The delivery boy vaults over the crates, ducking under a few bullets by hitting the concrete ground. The final mafioso fires from the steps leading into the mart, leaning against a metal door. Realizing the hopelessness of the situation, the Sicilian fishes for the key in his left pocket while aiming with his right hand. As he turns away to unlock the door, the delivery boy runs forward and empties the remainder of his clip into the man, decorating the metallic door a crimson red as the man collapses, dead, key in the keyhole. The delivery boy then hurriedly returns to his duffle bag and unzips it, retrieving a pair of Molotov cocktails. He returns to the blood stained door and places both of the explosive cocktails nearby. He retrieves a lighter, lights the rag of one of the cocktails, and cautiously unlocks the door. He then gives the knob a shove and tosses the cocktail into the mart, which was emptied in response to the shooting. As the mart erupts in flames, he lights the second cocktail and tosses it at the truck. The flames engulf the crates, spreading to the gas tank, igniting it. The truck bursts in flames, killing the previously unconscious mobster that passed out from blood loss near the truck. The delivery boy rushes back MP5 in hand to the duffle bag, retrieves it, and runs out of the driveway. He runs toward a white van, the sliding door open, occupied by a pair of Russian mobsters seated in front. Jumping in, he slides the door behind him and slams twice on the driver's shoulder. "Edi! Edi! (Go, Go!)" the delivery boy exclaims, prompting the driver to accelerate. Reaching for a cell phone inside the van, the delivery boy mashes several numbers and waits. "Balalaika? Eta ya, Polansky (this is me, Polansky). Ovashnoy cechas likvidirovani (Vegetable store now liquidated)."

A knock on the door. Another knock. A third. Rock opens the door, letting the gray light of damp Roanapur fill the motel room. His blue and green Hawaiian shirt amusingly reflects the red and green Hawaiian worn by the guest. Benny stares at Rock coldly, still remembering the Feng incident. "Here, that Luca fellow called the office half an hour ago. He told me to tell you to head a few blocks north on Pramoj road until you reach the Chinese bakery. He said to go there by foot, he said he is bringing a car."

Rock awkwardly looks at Benny, slowly nodding. Summoning the willpower, he responds "Thanks, Benny. I…I am sorry about how that ended with Feng and Jane." Benny looks at Rock meticulously. "Pardon?" Benny asks. Rock pauses, and continues "I should have acted, I should have done something…" Benny simply shakes his head and sighs. "Rock…I spent the last day of my vacation with Jane picking Feng's BRAINS out of her hair with a pair of tweezers. Look, I am not angry at you for doing nothing while a Chinese mercenary shot her, in respect to Feng. I couldn't care less about her. But you dragged me, dragged Jane, dragged Revy into that mess. I don't care if she was wrongly persecuted by the Chinese or framed by her superiors or whatever, but when you bring us into this mess, you put us at risk..." Rock heaves a heavy sigh and responds "I…did wha…" Benny interjects "NO! You did nothing. There was a gun right by your side. Would you have hit that merc with the pistol at thirty meters away? Maybe, maybe not. But you could have at least tried." Benny becomes unusually riled up.

"You want to fuck with Revy's mind? Use her? Make her do errands for you, risk her life, in the name of some hypocritical notion of morality? That is your problem and her problem. You want to use her like your corporate bosses used you, make her go on errands that ultimately change nothing? Again, that's your problem and her problem." Rock simply stares at Benny stone dead. His face does not change the slightest in expression. Benny continues "But just ask yourself, Rock. What if that wasn't Feng whose brains were about to spill all over Jane's head? What if that was me? Or Dutch?" Benny stares deeply at Rock, almost guilty for uttering the next words he will say. "What if that was Revy?"

Rock simply stares at Benny in dead silence. Benny simply shrugs his shoulders. "I'll see you when this is all over. If you need me, or Dutch, send a call. Dutch told you to not visit the office until you're done." Benny turns around, giving an apathetic wave as he heads down the stairs and onto the streets, still wet from the rain. The torrent of rain ceased for the day, as the orange sun barely peaks through the legion of rain clouds. Rock shuts the door and turns to face a nearby desk, surveying the bottle of Bacardi Rum. The bottle of locally produced 'Sailor Jerry' rum was fully consumed, sitting in one of the two cup holders in the car. A flushing sound resonates throughout the room, as Revy steps out of the bathroom. "Who was that?" Revy asks. Rock turns, stares deeply at Revy, and answers "That was Benny. He said Luca called, that we are to meet in front of a Chinese bakery down the road." Revy rolls her eyes and sighs "Tch! Let's get this shit over with…" Revy responds, annoyed. She spots the bottle of Bacardi Rum and remembers the other, empty bottle that she finished, and adds "Mediocre rum, that one still in the car, not something the real Sailor Jerry would drink. Maybe some American company will make 'Sailor Jerry' rum, use real fucking Caribbean sugar, do him real fucking justice, not that locally produced shit. Probably some Thai tourist coming back from Hawaii, trying to cash in on the name." Rock chuckles, pushing Benny's comments as far back into the crevices of his memory as possible, and asks. "Then why did you finish it?" Revy gives a smirk and responds "Hey, it's still fucking rum. Don't let good alcohol go to waste". Revy gives a pained sigh, which Rock contagiously mimics, as they change into their 'work' attire.

After changing into the same clothes they wore the previous day, the two step outside, shoes hitting the assortment of puddles. They each light a cigarette using Revy's matches, following the road past their new car. "Another day, working for fucking Ozzy. In all honesty, Rock, if he doesn't fulfill his end of the deal by the end of today, he never will. I hate being jerked around like this." Rock knocks a pinch of ash off his cigarette. "He said that all that remains is to start the war between the Sicilians and Hotel Moscow. If Balalaika is using the same tactics she used in Japan, then she is already organizing a coordinated assault. I would imagine Ronnie also on high alert, given that his advisor is now dead." Rock pauses, observing the dark clouds overhead. "Roanapur is now a warehouse full of gunpowder and dynamite, and Luca is searching for a large enough lighter." Revy heaves a sigh as they cross onto the street with the Chinese bakery. A large black Ford Explorer with tinted windows sits parked on a road perpendicular to the crossing. Revy eyes the SUV suspiciously, barely making out the outlines of at least two individuals inside the car. Looking ahead, she spots Luca, stomping his feet impatiently in front of what used to be Fabrizio's car, a black Saab 9000. As they approach, he calls out.

"Your decision to sleep separately from the office has forced me to adjust my projections. Fortunately, I have accounted for such a scenario and called earlier as a precaution, salvaging at least a few precious minutes. Purchase what you may desire," Luca pauses, retrieving a pair of 200 bhat notes and handing a note each to Revy and Rock. "Do eat in haste, however, as we are on a relatively strict schedule," Luca finishes as Revy and Rock grudgingly enter the bakery, desiring to see as little of Luca as possible.

A grey unmarked van slowly parks in front of an upscale restaurant called 'El Re de Marsala'. The driver and the passenger riding shotgun each pull out a Makarov pistol and place their guns on the dashboard. The large door of the van slides open as a trio of men dressed in army fatigues and balaclavas exit, one hulking individual carrying a RPK with a 75 round drum magazine, the other two carrying a pair of AK-74s. The men carrying the AK-74s run to the rear entrance of the restaurant as the large man carrying the RPK slowly walks toward the front. The behemoth, appearing to be 6 foot 8 with a barrel chest, holds his light machine gun in his right arm as he turns the knob of the door with his left. Pushing the door, he quickly readies his RPK before the crowd acknowledges his presence. Before him stand fourteen Sicilian men, 11 of them holding Beretta 92s, 2 of them carrying SPAS-12 shotguns with fixed buttstocks, and one man dressed in an expensive grey suit carrying a TMP. The giant carrying the RPK rights his machine gun toward the crowd, using his left hand to steady it, and places his right index finger on the trigger, ready to fire from the hip. The wooden door of the entrance slides back to its original location, causing a trio of bells attached to the door to ring.

The entire restaurant froze, the nerves of everyone surging as their bodies jolt. A few mobsters hurriedly raise their legs to kick dinner tables over for makeshift cover. The giant pulls the trigger. The merciless volley of bullets rain through the restaurant, shredding wood and flesh alike in indiscriminate fury. Five of the pistol wielding men die before they even hit the ground, three more are wounded. One of the shotgun wielding men is shot in the shoulder, causing his arm to jolt upward. His finger pulls the trigger out of instinct, striking an overhead chandelier. The chandelier collapses on the shotgun wielding man, killing him and slightly dimming the room. Glass shards bloom into every direction, lacerating a few of the mobsters. The five men that have yet to be shot drop to the ground as the RPK rains more bullets, turning the restaurant into a whirlwind of tablecloth, kitchenware, wood splinters, and blood. The bullets penetrate two of wounded mobsters, instantly killing one of them while mortally wounding the other. The Sicilians that are able to fire back only will themselves to return blind fire from their rapidly diminishing cover, unwilling to risk any further exposure. The large man responds to the returned fire by firing back in small, controlled bursts. He then immediately turns around and charges through the entrance, knocking the door loose of several of its hinges. The two Russian mobsters armed with AK-74s hear this and respond by kicking open the rear exit. The surviving mafiosos immediately jerk their heads and torsos around to be greeted by a barrage of AK-74 fire, killing the TMP carrying man and two of the Beretta carrying men, and mortally wounding the remaining Beretta carrying and SPAS-12 carrying men. Emptying their clips, they hurriedly replace them and fire controlled bursts into the heads of the surviving mobsters, completely the bloodbath. They fire precautionary shots at several of the already deceased and then run out through the door-less front entrance. The large RPK carrying man motions them inside the van. After the two jump inside, the behemoth follows them and slides the door shut. The driver accelerates away as the giant reaches for a phone and awkwardly mashes the buttons, his fingers too large to comfortably dial. After a short pause, during which he removes his balaclava, he speaks into the phone "Eta ya, Katsov (It's me, Katsov). Giacomo Alberi y yevo brigada ubeti (Giacomo Alberi and his team are dead).

"Vilikalepna, Katsov, (Excellent, Katsov)" Balalaika responds from her office in the Bougainvillea Trade Company. Hanging up, she approaches a wall, on which several photographs are taped to it. Under each photograph is the name of the individual. The photographs are arranged in a pyramidal structure, resembling the Sicilian's chain of command. Ronnie Cuccia's picture stands on top, flanked to the right by a crossed out picture of Fabrizio Ammassari, the cross done in a red marker. Diagonally to the right of Fabrizio's picture is a picture of Bruno Favaloro, also crossed out, with the number eight under the picture. Under Cuccia's photo is the photo of Underboss Tomasso Marinetti. Two photographs arc diagonally from each corner of Marinetti's photo. Caporegime Domenico Lanza sits on the left, while Caporegime Salvatore Petacci sits on the right. Under each Caporegime's photograph is a set of 3 more. Under Lanza's photograph is placed a crossed out photograph of Vito Scarfo, with a number 4 crossed out in red ink, a crossed out photograph of a man named Michele Visconti, with a number 8 crossed out in red ink, and a photograph of Giacomo Alberi, with a number 13 underneath it. The photographs and numbers of the three crews under Salvatore Petacci have all been crossed out, except for one photograph, whose face has been crossed out but the number underneath him, 5, has not. Balalaika reaches for a red marker and crosses out both Giacomo Alberi and the number 13. She slowly traces a circle around the upper leadership with her fingers, imagining possible defense scenarios. Content, she yells out "Sergeant, we are heading out to see this through personally! Notify Baretsky and inform him and his squad to hold position until I call the assault!" Balalaika turns back toward the pyramid of photographs. " _I will remind Roanapur that I am not one to be exploited, that I am one to be feared. If I must make an example of the Sicilians, so be it. Today's message shall ring loud and clear indeed…"_  Balalaika clutches her fist. Her anger is not directed toward the Sicilians, for she knew that Ronnie's organization would be destroyed eventually, with the arrival of the 'Ndrangheta. She anticipated a war, and expected a joint operation to wipe out the Sicilians, but she never imagined a spectacle orchestrated as the one the day before, nor did she expect to be both tricked into war and forced into repairing her previously ironclad image. Her anger is instead fully directed at Luca Cavalcanti, the man who shattered her once iron reputation. The man whose plans have sent Roanapur on a spiral that is destined to reach its center.

"So what exactly do you want us to do today?" Rock asks Luca, not expecting a concrete answer, not even a specific detail. Luca smirks, glaring at a stainless steel watch. His eyes follow the seconds of the watch, not bothering to look up at the road before him. The three seated in the same positions as they were in the beginning of the previous day, with Luca behind Rock. They drive on a wide road, stopping only for red lights. "You simply have to drive forward until I require you to halt. That would be all, Rokuro," Luca responds, his voice digging into both Revy's and Rock's skin. They drive for several minutes, as Revy stares into the rear view mirror. The black Ford Explorer had followed them since they began to drive, only to disappear a mile behind. They keep driving past various apartment buildings and shops, reaching Roanapur's red light district. Suddenly, Luca speaks out. "Halt, may you please stop the car in front of the next corner?" Rock sighs, knowing that that was an order, not a request, and so he complies, stopping the car. As they stop, Revy's eyes light up. Sitting on the curb in front of the Saab 9000, a boy with short, black hair, a cheap red striped sweater and denim jeans, nonchalantly pulls on the laces of his grey sneakers. His brown eyes and skinny face display a broken sadness that pulls Revy all the way back to Chinatown, NYC. Without saying another word, Luca moves behind Revy and steps out of the car, turning toward the boy, who appears to be either 12 or 13. The 'Ndrangheta boss kneels before the boy and places his right arm on the boy's right shoulder, pushing the boy toward him in what appears to be a gesture of comfort.

"Now, now, my poor child. What horrors have plagued you?" Luca soothingly asks, hiding his maniacal, sadistic grin. The child let's a stream of tears fall down both of his cheeks. "The big, bald man said that daddy would be here. The big bald man hurt mommy, took me. They killed her, watched me. They left me in a cold, dark room, left me by myself. Sometimes they come in with food." Luca extends his right hand to wipe the tears off the boy's cheek. "Did the bad bald man hurt you?" Luca asks, again masking his smile. The boy simply shook his head, sending tears flying in every direction. After a pause, the boy added "The bald man took me and put me in a car. He let me go here, told me that dad would find me here." Luca suppresses his sadistic smile and asks "What is your father called?" The boy forces a meek smile that lasts for a split second. "His name is Fabrizio, but I call him Dad," the boy forces himself to say. Revy and Rock stare at the spectacle before them, close enough to hear everything. Revy clutches her fist, enraged. She clamps down on her teeth, accidently biting her gum, causing bleeding in her mouth. The boy, Luigi Ammassari, looks deeply into Luca, almost accepting him as a guardian, as a friend. To Luigi, Luca was the first person that even bothered to ask him a real question in the past two days, to ask him about his feelings. Luca pulls Luigi toward himself, letting the boy cry over his sports jacket, the fabric comforting Luigi. Luca could not contain himself anymore, and grins wide, pulling the child closer as he suppresses his laughter. "Now…perhaps…perhaps your father has simply lost his way, and is waiting for you further ahead," Luca points ahead, toward the center of the Roanapur's worst regions, to Roanapur's opium and heroin dens and cheap brothels. "And perhaps…" Luca continues, smiling so wide that his cheeks begin to discomfort him "Perhaps your father has simply abandoned you, and has cast you aside. Perhaps you should look ahead to find the answer…" Luigi's eyes open widely, his hands shake as he meekly loses his grip on Luca's jacket. Luca stands up, brushes his pants and silently waves Luigi goodbye, who has slowly gotten up on his feet. Rock simply stares numbly as Revy seethes, filled with both shock and rage. As Luca opens the door and sits behind Revy, Luigi clumsily runs forward into the pit of the Roanapur red light district. Shutting the door behind him, Luca burst in hysterical, unending laughter. Revy hisses to herself, loud enough for both Rock and Luca to hear  _"You bastard…You sick, fucking bastard"_. Luca eventually calms down, retrieving a cigarette. He stares at Revy, and asks "I seem to have forgotten to purchase a lighter yet again…" Revy's eyebrow twitches. She hurriedly pulls out a set of matches, furiously tears a match off, and lights it. She extends the match over her shoulder, not wanting to see Luca's face. Luca extends his fingers and scissors the match, his cold, tear stained finger grazing Revy's hand, sending pulsating sensations of rage to her head and ghastly shivers down her spine. Lighting his cigarette, Luca speaks.

"Young Luigi will find himself trapped and crushed. If his heart simply could not accept it, then the boy shall commit suicide and that will be that, a loose end cleanly tied up. However…if he were to survive, and to survive…broken…then things may be truly interesting!" Luca exclaims, amused with himself. "Now, for your final task in my service, Rokuro. Turn left at the next intersection and continue on Somdet Road. I will tell you when to slow down." Luca takes a drag on his cigarette as Rock numbly steps on the gas pedal and Revy loses herself in the horrible memories of the past. She puts her right hand on her forehead, shielding her face, pushing her hand upwards, through her hair, feeling a plethora of emotions that she tries desperately to bottle up.

"Who the fuck are you?" Underboss Marinetti asks, pointing a SPAS-12 shotgun at a group of four Sicilian men. Marinetti's wrists shake as he holds the men at gunpoint, the buttstock of the gun planted firmly inside his armpit, standing in the doorway of an apartment. Behind him, Caporegimes Lanza and Petacci take cover behind a kitchen counter, each clutching onto a Beretta 92. In the bedroom next to the kitchen, Don Ronald Cuccia hurriedly pulls stacks of U.S. currency, $10,000 a stack, out of a large metal safe and into a bulky, human sized case of luggage. He alternates between dropping the stacks and sandwiching various documents, papers, and photographs in between the layers of money. One of the four men outside the apartment, a light haired man with a dark beard growing solely from the chin and a silver chain around his neck, his arms raised, responds, hurriedly. "We used to be with Luca Sansanelli before he got plastered all over the road with Mario Rossi. We were riding in convoy behind him but got the hell out of there when Ivan shredded their car. Sansanelli told us of the rally point so we came. We brought transport too, car only took a few shots. Name's Emilio Pavolini, I used to work the office for Don Cuccia. I was the guy that helped Lanza with that thing at that place back in Messina." Caporegime Lanza pulls himself up and shouts "Marinetti, I know that guy! They're with us, take it easy!" Marinetti shakes his head and lowers his shotgun.

"You're all that's fucking left?" Petacci exclaims, holstering his Beretta 92. Pavolini places his right hand on the kitchen counter and his left hand on his face. He rubs his eyebrows and responds "How the fuck did it get this bad? Cazzo! (Fuck!) I've been calling everyone from the other crews, no fucking answer. It's as if that zoccola Balalaika hit us like an uragano (hurricane)." Lanza shakes his head, his left hand pinching the top of his nose. He responds "Yeah, Ivan caught us with our cazzones (dicks) out. Consider yourself lucky you're still alive. My entire crew got wiped out. Cazzo tutti! (Fucking everyone)." Pavolini peers his head toward the bedroom, hearing the panicked grunts from Cuccia and the sound of paper bending. Turning to Marinetti, he asks "Hey, what happened to Favaloro's crew? He had like 8 guys with him before…well…yeah?" Marinetti keeps watch, peering out of the doorway. He answers with a stern, disinterested look on his face, focused more on his own safety. Lanza answers Pavolini's question "We had to make some sacrifices…It was the Don's idea, make them think that that was the rally point. We were hoping they would take the bait and send the bulk of their men after what's left of Favaloro's team, thin out their attack force, give us a better shot…Like I said, consider yourself fucking lucky." As Lanza finishes speaking, the sound of a large case of luggage being locked resonates throughout the apartment. Cuccia struggles to pull the luggage out, a metallic luggage bag. Giving an exhausted grunt, he addresses the crowd.

"That guastafesta (party spoiler) Balalaika probably has men waiting to whack us by the airport. She also probably has the major docks under watch too, probably with snipers." Cuccia pauses to collect his thoughts. "I arranged transportation with the Phuket Merchant Cloak. They are a Thai pirate and courier group, based out of Phuket, and they have no allegiance to Hotel Moscow, unlike that cagna pazza (crazy bitch) and that Jap cacasentenze (wiseass). Good that you made yourself marginally useful for once and brought a car, Pavolini, which now gives us two. We'll try to split up, and then meet up at the old abandoned fishery to the north, that should give at least one group a chance to survive. Got it? Bene, now let us all fucking escape before Fry-Face rears her ever so ugly face."

One of Pavolini's three partners moves toward the window. Peering through the glass, he surveys the street below, watching a few random Roanapur natives meander about. His eyes travel upward, at a large brick apartment building, a mirror copy of the building he is currently in. The Sicilian surveys the windows as the Cuccia family leadership readies themselves for their exit. Suddenly, the Sicilian spots a flash of light from a window, half opened, originating from the fifth floor. The Sicilian's eyes light up.

"CAZZO! CECCHINO! (sniper)"

The distinct bang of a Dragunov sniper rifle thunders through the streets as a bullet zips through the air and into the fourth floor Sicilian apartment. The bullet smashes through the glass and burrows into the Sicilian's right lung, then exits out of his body and nests itself inside a leather couch. The Sicilian grabs hold of the window pane, losing all support in his legs. A surge of blood fills his throat as he struggles to breathe. Everyone else in the apartment runs toward the entrance to the hallway, heads ducked. The Sicilian mobster turns around, unholstering his Beretta 92, enraged at being left to die. He screams out, spitting blood in the process "ANDATE TUTTI A FANCULO!" (you can all go fuck yourselves). The wounded Sicilian fires a pair of bullets at Petacci as he ducks out of the apartment, missing him horribly, resulting in a pair of holes in the wall. He pulls himself up toward the window, aims at the hole in the window, and rams the barrel of his gun through it, making a larger hole. "YOU TOO!" the Sicilian yells. He then takes aim at the window. While doing this, a Thai resident living in the apartment to the right of him peers out of his window with a pump-action shotgun, wooden buttstock nestled in his right shoulder. The bald Russian sniper named Baretsky spots this, and quickly adjusts his Dragunov. The Thai man instantly realizes the graveness of his mistake and tries to duck. Baretsky fires a pair of shots at the Thai man, one striking the man's left arm, exiting through his arm, and lodging itself in his chest, gashing his heart. The other bullet harmlessly strikes the wood of the window pane, cracking glass, as the Thai man collapses, dead before he hit the ground. As the second shot hit the window pane, the wounded Sicilian centered his aim and opened fire, emptying his clip. The first three shots harmlessly hit the brickwork, causing the sniper to duck, as the remaining barrage zips through the air. Two bullets actually zip into the apartment, lodging themselves in the wall as a terrified Australian tourist shakes, curled in a fetal position. "We are all going to bloody die!" the Australian tourist cries out, as the Russian sniper realigns his rifle and takes aim. He quickly fires a shot, followed by another, the first hitting brickwork, the second striking the Sicilian in the throat, causing a spray of blood, fatally wounding the man. The sniper then turns to the tourist, fishes out a handful of Thai bhat, and tosses the money at the terrified man. "Vot (here), that should cover damages," Baretsky says, mildly annoyed.

Pavolini, his two remaining associates, and the Roanapur Sicilian leadership wait impatiently for an elevator to open. As the elevator rings and the number 4 lights up, the doors open. A balaclava and army fatigue clad man, pressed against the control board containing the elevator buttons, quickly turns around, firing his Makarov pistol. He fires two shot at one of Pavolini's partners, missing the first time and hitting the mafioso's left eye the second time. He quickly adjusts for Pavolini's other partner, firing one, hitting the man squarely between the eyes at a range of less than a foot, sending blood spraying. Marinetti takes aim with his SPAS-12 as the two men fall on their backs, dead. The Russian mobster quickly returns to cover behind the control board, using the barrel of his Makarov to quickly press a floor button. Marinetti fires two bursts, both shots damaging the elevator interior as he moves sideways on his right, trying to get a clearer shot. He fires another burst right before the elevator closes, striking the Russian's right arm. Small chunks of flesh, blood, and fabric splatter the elevator interior as the Russian groans in agony.

The remaining survivors hurry down the stairs, Petacci in front, followed by Cuccia tugging his luggage, then Lanza and Pavolini coving Cuccia's back. Marinetti covers the rear with his SPAS-12. They hurry down to the third floor, the elevator slowly reaching the 3rd floor as well. A door creeks open, bounded to the door frame by a chain. An elderly Thai man peers through the gap to see the commotion. Out of reflex, Cuccia draws out his Beretta 92 and fires a shot. The elderly man quickly ducks back, the bullet striking the door, splintering wood. The door immediately shuts as the elevator passes toward the 2nd floor. The entourage continues to hurry down the stairs, racing the elevator. Eventually, the elevator reaches the ground floor, prompting Petacci and Lanza to take aim at the elevator door, anticipating. Cuccia sits on the stairs, using his luggage as a shield, as he holds his Beretta steadily. Marinetti and Pavolini ready their weapons behind Cuccia, with Marinetti on the 1st floor. However, the elevator door does not open, as inside, a key has locked the elevator down. The group waits impatiently, and eventually Cuccia motions at Lanza with his pistol. Lanza, pistol in hand, proceeds to push the button to the elevator, to no success. The group grows increasingly nervous. Suddenly, the elevator doors of the 1st floor begin to move as a hand desperately tries to pry the door open. Marinetti and Pavolini stare at each other, confused as to the source of the noise. The groan of a wounded man alerts Marinetti, who turns his shotgun around as the elevator doors are forced open. The Russian mobster grabs the barrel of the shotgun with his left hand just before Marinetti fires, sending the burst into the roof above them. Pavolini prepares to fire, but the Russian gangster shoots his Makarov first, wounding Pavolini in his right shoulder. Pavolini falls back, his back hitting the wall, as the shock of the wound causes him to lose his balance, sending him tumbling down the stairs and into Cuccia's back. Marinetti and the Russian struggle for several seconds, until Marinetti lets his left hand let go of the shotgun, grabbing the wounded Russian's bleeding shoulder. He squeezes tightly on the wound, causing the Russian to lose his strength, and then kicks him in the gut. The Russian falls back, into the elevator shaft. His head lands awkwardly on a wall in the shaft, causing his neck to fold forward, breaking it. The lifeless body of the Russian lands on top of the elevator shaft, his legs dangling over the opening in the elevator roof.

Cuccia picks himself up, knocked down by the tumbling Pavolini. "Cazzo! Emilio you fucking billy goat!" Cuccia curses. Pavolini simply covers his wound with his left hand, barely raising his pistol. His white jacket starts to turn a crimson red as the bleeding progresses. The surviving members huddle in the lobby, as Marinetti takes cover next to the rear exit. Cuccia speaks out "My friend Luciano is driving my car. He has connections with Gangitano in Australia, going to let us disappear there until it's safe to head back to Palermo." Marinetti curses under his breath and responds "Ronnie, if Luciano is out there, he is a fucking cadavere (corpse)!" Lanza and Petacci take cover by the entrance, carefully peering out toward the opposite apartments. A flash of light alerts them back to cover, as a bullet zips through the glass entranceway, sending small shards forward. Cuccia shakes his head, grinding his teeth, his braces reflecting off the fluorescent lighting of the lobby. Marinetti slowly opens the door as Lanza and Petacci head out, followed by Cuccia and his luggage, then Pavolini holding his wounded shoulder, and lastly Marinetti covering the rear. They carefully navigate an alleyway toward Cuccia's car. "Emilio, where is your car?" Cuccia asks. Pavolini groans and answers "Down the street, near where the fucking cecchino is…" Cuccia punches his luggage and hisses "Emilio. Fucking Emilio. There is a good reason why you no longer work in my office and instead became Sansanelli's coffee boy. You know why…mister billy goat? It is because…you are…a complete and utter pazzo, of such inspiring magnitude…that you are no longer a human being, but a bumbling, bearded, disjointed collection of bones, flesh, and PIGEON SHIT! We…do not have…two cars. We have one car, and a FUCKING KILLZONE!" Pavolini takes a step back, nervously laughing at Cuccia. Cuccia yells in response "Do you think this fucking funny, ehh pazzo? Did I miss the fucking joke? Do I look like I am fucking laughing? Do I look like I want to fucking laugh? If I wanted a joke, I'd follow you into the shitter and watch you take a piss!"

Marinetti ignores the spectacle brewing before himself as he slowly approaches Cuccia's car, a silver 1974 Chevrolet Impala sedan. Inside, slumping on the wheel, is a black haired man dressed in a grey blazer. Marinetti walks steadily around the back, listening for any sign of life inside the trunk, and then moves toward the driver seat. There, he spots a hole in the window leveling where Luciano's head used to be, as Luciano's corpse sits limp, streams of partially dried blood covering his corpse. Suddenly, a van appears, blocking the alleyway that faces Marinetti. Seeing this, Marinetti fires a burst from his shotgun at the van and then immediately rolls onto the hood of the car. As the van door slides open and a duo of balaclava clad Russian mobsters open fire with AK-74's, Marinetti rolls onto the ground, protected by the car as it absorbs the bullets. Lanza, Petacci, Pavolini, and Cuccia drop on the ground as bullets zip over them. Petacci panics, screaming "This is fucking hopeless! I don't want to die, I don't want to die! Sorry boss but I am calling it quits here." Petacci breaks from his cover and runs across the alleyway to the street, and the sniper. Cuccia yells out "Petacci, you fucking stronzo (turd)!" Cuccia fires a shot at fleeing Petacci, missing, and then turns his attention at returning blind fire at the Russians along with Lanza, Marinetti, and Pavolini. He turns his attention back to Petacci, who runs out into the street. Petacci then waves his Beretta 92 over his head and drops it on the ground, raising his hands and cupping them behind his head. Cuccia stares at this scene, pondering on if there is a window for surrender. Petacci stands still for several seconds, and is then responded to with a bullet to left side of his neck, sending a spray of blood onto the pavement. The dying Caporegime clutches his bleeding neck with both of his hands, gasping for air, until he is responded to again with a euthanizing bullet into his nose, falling violently backwards.

Cuccia and Marinetti reload their weapons, staring at Petacci's bleeding corpse. Pavolini and Lanza continue to apply blind fire back at the van. A bullet flies toward one of the Russian attackers, wounding a man in the thigh. The wounded man falls to the van floor, and then crawls out of the line of fire. His partner ducks behind cover, reloading. After reloading, he tosses a cell phone toward the driver. The phone bounces off the glass and rests onto the dashboard, as the driver grabs it and dials. Within a minute, a second van enters the fray, parking over Petacci's dead body, the right side wheels crushing the corpse's knees. Pavolini nudges Cuccia with his wounded shoulder, groaning in pain. Cuccia signals to Marinetti and Lanza, who quickly duck behind the trunk of the car as Cuccia runs away from the range of fire with his luggage. Pavolini shoots the window of the car and shatters it, unlocking the car and opening the car door. He then proceeds to use the car door as a shield while reloading. The rain of bullets from two angles peppers the car, ultimately prompting the group to retreat toward the other street block. The four nearly reach the sidewalk when a third, larger van cuts them off. The four of them immediately turn around as the van door begins to slide open. Marinetti and Lanza pause and open fire on a pair of ski-mask clad Russians holding AK-47s. The Russians quickly slide the van door shut, which absorbs the bullets, as the shotgun seated passenger unholsters a Scorpion VZ 61 submachine gun. He hurriedly ducks as a shotgun blast shatters the passenger side window and nearly strikes the driver in the head. Recovering, the Russian unloads a shower of gunfire as he empties all twenty bullets of his machine gun, five of the bullets hitting Lanza, seven hitting Marinetti. Both of them collapse to the ground, wounded, bleeding, and heavily breathing. Marinetti loses his grip on his SPAS-12, which slides a couple of feet away from him. The two Russian mobsters that slid the door shut proceed to slide it back open, and then step out. Seeing this, Cuccia and Pavolini turn right and run toward a dead end alleyway, Cuccia's luggage knocking into a metal trash can, causing him to stumble on his feet. The two Russian mobsters run toward Marinetti and Lanza, one of them kicking Marinetti's shotgun away as the other steps on Lanza's right arm and pries his pistol out of his hand. Shortly after this, a silver colored sedan parks behind the van. Exiting the sedan, Balalaika sports her military jacket over her red suit, holding a Makarov pistol in her right hand. Sergeant Boris flanks her left, holding a Makarov pistol as well, as Vaynshteyn flanks her right, holding a pair of Kiparis submachine guns, one in each hand. They approach the two Russians and the wounded Marinetti and Lanza. Balalaika tensely walks past them, then stops a foot past them. Without turning around she solemnly orders "Liqvidirovat ihh…(liquidate them)". The two Russian ski mask clad mobsters turn their AK-47s on Marinetti and Lanza. A loud burst follows as they spray their bodies with bullets. Their bodies switch and their mouths yell as their flesh and organs are shredded and they take their last gasps.

Balalaika, Boris, and Vaynshteyn slowly walk toward the alleyway that Cuccia and Pavolini turned to, and then stop. Boris takes cover by the wall and slowly peers into the alleyway. A bullet from Pavolini's Beretta 92 strikes a wall near Boris, causing him to duck back. He turns his head toward Vaynshteyn and Balalaika and shakes it. Vaynshteyn takes a step back, and then runs forward, blindly firing his two Kiparis submachine guns as he runs to take cover opposite Boris. Boris and Vaynshteyn then proceed to empty their clips into the alleyway, using blind fire until they hear a man wail in agony. Vaynshteyn pushes his glasses closer to his head and then proceeds to reload, as Boris reloads his pistol. The three of them then carefully step into the alleyway, Vaynshteyn taking the lead as Boris follows in the middle and Balalaika tensely follows behind them. Cuccia takes cover behind the luggage, shaking violently in fear, breathing deeply, as Pavolini crawls on the ground, clutching the hole that was made in his stomach. Pavolini starts to bleed profusely, filling the alleyway with the scent of blood, turning the puddles of dirty water a shade of crimson. Vaynshteyn approaches Pavolini and, using his right foot, turns Pavolini on his back. Pavolini stares into Vaynshteyn's eyes, breathing heavily from the pain, resigning himself to death. Vaynshteyn slowly aims the Kiparis in his left hand at Pavolini's heart, and then fires half a dozen bullets.

After watching Pavolini die, Balalaika turns toward the large piece of luggage before them, and the man cowering behind it. She stops right in front of the luggage, with Boris a foot behind her. Balalaika slowly raises her Makarov pistol and taps the metal luggage with the barrel. 'Clank, Clank'. Cuccia shakes in fear, his pistol vibrating from the shaking. He grinds his teeth, squeezes the grip of his pistol tightly with both hands, and starts to turn left, out of cover. Balalaika sees this and grabs the barrel of his Beretta with her left hand, and pulls the barrel upward. She then brings her Makarov toward Cuccia's wrists and fires, the bullet piercing the left hand's wrist. As Cuccia retracts his left hand and places his left palm on the luggage, Balalaika fires another shot at Cuccia's right hand's wrist. Cuccia lets go of the Beretta, which harmlessly falls to the ground, and then moves behind the luggage and desperately tries to maul Balalaika with it. Cuccia attempts to pick up the luggage, but the wounds in his wrists prevent him from doing so, as the energy in his body ebbs away. He crawls on his back, terrified, scurrying toward the dead end of the alleyway. Balalaika approaches slowly, her Makarov pistol aimed at Cuccia's forehead. Cuccia backs himself into the dead end brick wall of the alleyway. He breathes heavily, and then pleads out "Please. Please. Please! We can strike a deal! I am sure I am still worth something back in Sicily. Hold me ransom! See? I live and you profit, it is a win-win situation!"

Balalaika stands right in front of Cuccia. She places the barrel of her Makarov pistol in Cuccia's mouth. Cuccia tries to claw at the brick wall behind futilely, worsening the wounds in his wrists. His hands meekly scrap the brickwork, and then fall to the ground below, splashing puddles. Behind her, Vaynshteyn shoots out the lock on the luggage, and then opens it. The shot from Vaynshteyn's Kiparis causes Cuccia to urinate his pants, darkening them. A surge of embarrassment fills Cuccia, as he tries to salvage what remains of his pride. Resigning himself to his fate, Cuccia asks for a final request "Please…Balalaika. Not the head…"

'BANG!'

Balalaika fires regardless, shooting Cuccia in the mouth. Cuccia twitches for a second, and then expires. Blood begins to drip out of his mouth and onto his suit, running down his tie. Droplets of blood flow down the brickwork and onto the puddles of dirty rain water, leaving behind crimson lines on the wall. Balalaika holsters her Makarov and solemnly stares at the result of her handiwork. The Sicilian Mafia of Roanapur is now essentially and permanently destroyed, and all their territories, operations, and properties have either been destroyed as well, or have been seized by Hotel Moscow. Balalaika takes a step backwards, allowing the realization to sink in, imagining the possible political and business scenarios that could follow. Suddenly, Vaynshteyn yells out "Kapitan! Ti dolzhen eto pasmatret (You have to see this)!"

Balalaika turns around and faces the mountain of bills in front of her. "$10,000 in each stack! Blayt, we are looking at a few million at least!" Vaynshteyn yells, with the smile of a man that just found a gold vein. Boris flips through a notebook, eyes glued to the contents. "Emena, dati, bankovskih schetov, blayt, politikov tozhe (names, dates, bank accounts, fuck, even politicians)! All the people Cuccia had in his pocket. All the bribes and blackmail material! Dozens of powerful contacts that we can now seize. Kapitan, I think this we now have Cuccia's entire organization, almost everything, in a chumadan (luggage case)!" Boris exclaims, turning the pages in the notebook, his eyes growing more in surprise with each flip. One of the balaclava clad Russians enters the alleyway, running toward the group. "Kapitan! We just found Makashvili's body in the elevator shaft. He is the only fatality. Aside from him, one of the van gunners received a bullet to the leg. He is being taken to the vrach, but it seems he will live."

Balalaika solemnly nods and responds "Spasiba" as the balaclava clad Russian heads back out of the alleyway. She turns to face Boris and Vaynshteyn, angered by the loss of one of her fellow soldiers. Boris turns to Balalaika and speaks out "Jodorovski and his men are en route to eliminate the remainder of Bruno Favaloro's men. Once they are eliminated, the last of the Sicilian presence will be removed." Balalaika absorbs the information, knowing that her victory has already been assured, that only the loose ends need to be tied. Suddenly, the image of Luca Cavalcanti fills her mind, reminds her as to why this war was waged. Reminds her of the circus he orchestrated, of his plot to shatter her reputation. She understands that thoughts of moving against the 'Ndrangheta are too early to act on, as her men are scattered and still fighting the post-climactic stages of the war against the Cuccia family. She turns to look at Cuccia's corpse, then at Pavolini's, and then an idea strikes her head.

"Boris! Vaynshteyn! I want all necessary expenses to be made to the police chief, so that he will not interfere. I want the bodies of Cuccia, Marinetti, Lanza, Petacci, and this person here (she points at Pavolini) to be hung by their ankles in the vacant lot near out office. I want their corpses to hang from a scaffolding until the stench of their decay reaches my office, and I want guards posted by the bodies to ensure that no one so much as dares to take them down. I want them to be displayed in full view for everyone to see. I will remind everyone in this city of the consequence of any and all acts of aggression against me, my organization, and my comrades…" Balalaika pulls a cigarette out and lights it, taking a drag. She steps out of the alleyway, looking upward into the sky. The smoke from the Cuccia Whole Foods Store continues to fill Roanapur's sky, still a mesh of grey with emaciated rays of orange.

"Wonder where that fire is coming from," Revy blurts out, recovering, calming down after witnessing Luca send a little boy into hell. Rock takes advantage of the red light in front of him to take notice of the trails of black smoke.  _"Roanapur is now a warehouse full of gunpowder and dynamite, and Luca is searching for a large enough lighter,"_  Rock recalls himself saying. He stares perplexed at the smoke trails, watching them, surveying them. His thought process is interrupted by Luca "You may take a right turn at the next light".

Completing the turn, Rock is suddenly reminded of the block where Fabrizio Ammassari lived. "Drive slowly Rokuro, as if you are searching for someone," Luca requests of Rock. Rock suspiciously obliges, easing his foot off the gas and onto the brakes, reaching a desirable speed. Eight men crowd around an apartment block with guns drawn, all Beretta 92s. Closely watching these men, Revy unholsters her Cutlasses. Suddenly, a thought hit her. "Those are probably with the Sicilians, and considering that 'Voodoo Doll' had an office or safe house or whatever nearby…" Revy speaks as she watches one of the men turn around and face the car. "Ey! That's Fabrizio's car…" the man mutters. Revy sees him mutter something incomprehensible and continues "…and since we are driving Fabrizio's car… ROCK KEEP YOUR FUCKING HEAD DOWN!"

The first barrage of gunfire pellets the car and shatters windows as Luca and Rock duck under the line of fire. Revy peeks upward as the car continues to move slowly, with Rock trying to rediscover the gas pedal. Revy fires a few shots, striking the muttering man and another Sicilian, killing the former and wounding the latter. "STEP ON IT ROCK!" Rock finds the gas pedal and Revy holsters her left-handed Cutlass and unlocks the front passenger door, opening it slightly. She holds onto the now glassless window frame with her left hand and fires her other Cutlass, using the added range of view to strike two more targets as the car speeds up. She pushes herself back into the Saab and shuts the car door, yelling at Luca "YOU HAVE A FUCKING GUN AND YOU'RE TOO UPSCALE CHICKEN SHIT TO USE IT?" Luca raises his head up and retorts, smirking "I am a poor marksman, it would have simply been a waste of ammunition".

Rock picks his head up, seeing an intersection approach. Suddenly, as they prepare to cross the intersection, a large grey van barrels toward them.

" _This is unfortunate, they have already begun the fighting,"_ Luca thinks to himself, his smirk wiped off and a rare stern look takes its place.

As the van tries to turn right in a bid to avoid the collision, Rock's eyes light up, suddenly understanding everything. "You didn't hire us to spark the war between Hotel Moscow and Sicily…it has already begun…" The van collides with the left rear of the Saab, sending it tilting on its side, and then forcing it into in a single roll. Luca hangs onto Rock's seat as Revy grabs onto Rock and Rock clutches the steering wheel. The car bangs its right side against the asphalt, leaving behind a rear view mirror, shards of glass, scrapings of metal. The car then tilts left and rests, one of the doors, Revy's, hanging open, the lock shattered. Staggered, Rock attempts to open his door, but halts when a bullet hits the car. The Russians and the remnants of the Sicilians exchange blind fire at each other, the Russians from behind and inside their van, the Sicilians from various sources of cover, ranging from a bench to an alley. One of the wounded men musters his energy to join the fight, only to be cut down by a barrage of bullets from a Kiparis submachine gun, courtesy of a balaclava clad Russian. Back in the car, Revy motions Rock to exit using her door, which Rock drowsily obliges by maneuvering over her. Revy then opens the driver seat door and runs toward the near side of the van.

The squad commander, Jodorovski, recognizes Revy and yells over the gunfire. "You, you that crazy gunner that work for Dutch. Kakova kchorta (what the hell) you doing here?" Revy squares up a man taking cover behind a metal bench and fires several rounds, one of the bullets flying through a gap in the bench and hitting the man's right side ribs. "Work, giving you a helping hand," Revy answers sardonically. "Well you almost killed us! Kchort (hell), what did you do to piss them off? This was supposed to be final mop up operation, with rest of Sicily either about to be killed or already dead," Jodorovski retorts.  _"Already dead? What the fuck did Luca hire us to do?"_ Revy thought to herself.

The black Ford Explorer from earlier suddenly enters the battle from the street Revy, Rock, and Luca entered. The SUV barrels through the battlefield. The Sicilians open fire on it as the Russians, except Jodovorski, who fires a few instinctive bullets from his AK-74u before pausing, hold fire and stare in anticipation. One of the Sicilians fails to duck out of the way, and desperately jumps toward the SUV as the Ford prepares to run him over. He surprisingly survives, grabbing onto the front grating on the car. The Sicilian man staggers to raise his pistol at the two men seated in the front, when the man seated in the front passenger seat pears out with a Glock 22, revealing himself to be Paolo Spoletta. Paolo fires a shot at the Sicilian's head, sending a spray of blood onto the front of the car as the man's corpse crumbles under the car. The Ford Explorer then carefully weaves around the van and behind the wrecked Saab. Jodorovski aims his AK-74u at the SUV, watching for a second as Revy spots Paolo Spoletta and an unrecognizable man sporting sunglasses, a Hawaiian shirt, and a Panama hat exit the vehicle. Rock slowly crawls out of the car, with Luca following suit. Gunfire from the Sicilians directs Revy's and Jodorovski's attention toward the battle at hand. Luca, realizing this, seizes his chance.

A Beretta 92 is pulled out of Luca's waist as Luca violently wraps his left arm around Rock's neck. Luca picks up the staggered Rock with his left arm and aim's his Beretta 92 at Rock's head.

"Not this again. Fuck! ROCK!" Revy yells out, firing a few shots at the Sicilians and then turning her gun toward Luca. Paolo and the Panama hat man aim their Glock 22s at Revy as she desperately tries to line up a clear shot on Luca. She leaves her cover, slowly walking toward Luca. "You rattlesnake motherfucker!" Revy hisses, as the three 'Ndrangheta members slowly step back toward the Ford Explorer. And then, at last, Luca could no longer hold it inside any longer.

"THIS IS SO FANTASTIC! I HAVE NOT HAD THIS MUCH FUN IN SO MANY YEARS!" Luca bursts laughing, as Rock stands motionless in Luca's grasp. "Listen closely!" Luca yells over the gunfire. "In two days, you shall see, you shall understand!" A bullet from of one of the remaining Sicilians zips several feet over Luca's head and into the sky.

Luca frantically yells. "In two days, come hunt for me! I shall show you the way!

Revy grinds her teeth, her two Cutlasses aimed at Luca.

"IN TWO DAYS, THIS SCRIPT WILL REACH ITS GLORIUS CLIMAX!" Luca yells as Revy glares violently.

"IN TWO DAYS, WE WILL HAVE AN ENDING TO THIS…AN ENDING TO THINGS…REBECCA ZHAO!"

" _WHAT?"_ Revy paused, frozen, shaken to her core. She couldn't speak, she could barely breathe.  _"What…did he…say…?"_

Revy's hands shake violently as she stares, bathed both in rage, and at the same time, restrained by herself, by Luca's words. Luca shoves Rock and himself inside the Ford Explorer as the Panama hat man sits in the driver seat. As Paolo, gun still aimed at Revy, attempts to step inside, Revy finally directs her rage outward.

'BANG BANG! BANG BANG!'

Two, four, soon eight shots pepper Paolo Spoletta as he fires a pair of bullets of his own, missing. The Ford Explorer accelerates as Revy runs toward it, with Paolo latching on for dear life. She drops one of her Cutlasses and lunges at the wounded Paolo, grabbing him by the leg. As Paolo hangs onto the interior of the car and Revy scraps her right knee holding onto Paolo, Luca moves toward the hanging door and slams it on Paolo's fingers, causing Paolo to lose his grip as he dies. Paolo's body flies toward the sidewalk with Revy in tow. The lifeless body of the 'Ndrangheta member scraps on the sidewalk as Revy lets go, her inertia sending her meters over his dead body.

" _Rebecca…Zhao…he knew…"_  was what Revy thought last before hitting her head against a parked car, blacking out, unconscious, under the setting Roanapur sun.

" _Rebecca Zhao…"_

 


	5. Broken Through

"Where the fuck am I?" Revy drowsily mutters. A sharp pain in her head immediately registers, causing her to flinch. Regaining her consciousness, she looks around, realizing that she is back in her motel room. Seated on a chair is Dutch, smoking a cigarette, a stern look on his face. Leaning by the door is Benny, looking downward, not making eye contact. Revy pulls herself off the bed, groaning in the newly registered pain in her scraped knees. Relatively fresh bandages cover the wounds on her knees and her head. "Rock? Dutch, where the fuck is…" a flood of rage fills her head as she recalls everything that transpired. "FUCK! FUCKING ROCK GETTING KIDNAPPED, AGAIN! FUCKING LUCA!" Revy kicks the bed, further exacerbating her pain. Dutch knocks ash off his cigarette onto an ashtray and gets up.

"Cool it, Two-Hands. Remember…cool as a cucumber." Dutch pauses to collect his thoughts. "You've been out since around sunset two days ago. It's 11 A.M. now. You were brought to our office by Jodorovski. Rock has been kidnapped by the 'Ndrangheta, being subjected to fuck knows what by Luca, and the Sicilians have been completely wiped out. When pressed, we told Balalaika about what and why you worked for Luca. She promised to use her connections to get Rock's brother out of trouble and to let your and Rock's involvement with Luca slide, with a catch." Dutch takes a drag on his cigarette and continues. "She wants you to kill Luca Cavalcanti, alone to make it look like a personal dispute, which I'd imagine it already is. No Hotel Moscow involvement, no cash payment, no help from Benny or me. Just you, alone."

Revy did not even need to think. "I don't need any fucking payment. I just want to find that greaseball motherfucker and kick his fucking face in!" Revy grinds her teeth, picking her Cutlasses off a drawer and holstering them. Her body riles up and her blood boils. "If that fucker tries some of his sick shit on Rock…" Revy hisses, then punches the drawer, bruising her right fist.

"Easy Revy!" Dutch yells. Revy turns to face him, her face startling Dutch. _'Ah fuck no, no this again'_ , Dutch thought to himself, as Revy pierces him with the same eyes that she carried on board the Neo-Nazi ship. The Whitman Fever fills her veins, as logic and calm temporarily cease to exist. Dutch simply shakes his head and retrieves an envelope from a pocket in his flak jacket. The envelope is folded once, just enough to fit in the pocket. "Benny found this at the office this morning, says 'For Miss Revy' on it, seems someone slipped it under the door. He didn't see who slid the letter in."

Revy quickly snatches the envelope out of Dutch's hands and tears open the seal. Her blood boils to extraordinary heights as she pulls out the contents, not a letter, but a photograph.

A photograph of Yukio Washimine, crossed out in red marker. Rock's photograph, which he kept in his wallet. Revy stares at the photograph, crushing its corner, turning it around after a pause. _'The old slaughterhouse on the western side…on Asoka Road. An…ending to things…'_ Revy deeply thinks to herself, crushing the photograph in the palm of her right hand. She drops the photograph on the floor and bolts out of the motel without saying a word, pushing Benny out of the way. As she runs toward her new Lincoln Town Car, Benny turns to Dutch and finally speaks "I reckon we should lock up and head back to the office". Dutch crushes his cigarette on the ashtray and emotionlessly responds "Yeah…Yeah."

A twist of a key brings the Town Car to life, turning the radio on. The awakening of the engine is met with the thunderous downpour of rain as streams of water beat down on Roanapur. The bottle of locally produced rum sits in the holder as before. The stick shift is set to drive and the gas pedal is stomped as the Town Car accelerates amidst the steady downpour.

"Not this fucking song now…" Revy hisses, running through red lights as 'Break on Through' by The Doors plays. A Thai woman carrying groceries on the crosswalk spots Revy's car barreling toward her. The Thai woman jumps out of the way right before Revy zips past her, sending groceries and herself onto the metal grating of the water drain, soaked in dirty rainwater.

As Revy prepares to cross an intersection, a large grey truck barrels onward from the right. A quick left turn of the wheel, followed by a turn to the right, and Revy maneuvers around the truck. In doing so, Revy hits a large pool of rainwater that is launched onto the sidewalk.

Revy grinds her teeth, her eyes full of silent rage, sick with Whitman Fever. One final remaining turn sends the car toward the sidewalk, knocking down a trash can, spilling garbage onto the soaked streets.

After righting the car, Revy sends the car barreling forward, the slaughterhouse miles ahead. A man tugging a draped wooden cart of watermelons crosses the street in front of Revy. Spotting the car, he motions with his hands for the car to stop, then jumps out of the way at the last second. The Town Car shatters through the cart, sending wooden splinters and watermelon chunks in every possible direction, a few chunks stuck on the windshield.

'Break on Through' fades away as it's replaced.

"No. Not this fucking song. Fuck you Jim…" Revy hisses, trying to block it out, too coldly enraged and focused to bother shutting the radio off.

"Shut up…" Revy hisses. The song continues, despite her protests.

"SHUT UP!" Revy yells as 'The End' by The Doors plays, getting closer and closer to the destination…to the end of things.

Three miles turn to two. The rain continues its angry siege of Roanapur. No thunder launched from the trebuchets, just the arrows of water shot from the bows. A chunk of watermelon peels off the windshield and bounces on the asphalt.

Two miles turn to one. Apartments fade in and fade out. Men, women, and children scurry around, seeking shelter from the rain. Scurrying. Scurrying like ants. "SHUT THE FUCK UP JIM MORRISON!" Revy yells as the slaughterhouse is within her sights, situated on the right side of the road. Standing outside the facility, the man in the Panama hat stands guard, using an umbrella to shelter himself from the rain. Revy pulls the Town Car onto the sidewalk. The Panama man spots this and fishes for a gun. The vehicle barrels toward the 'Ndrangheta henchman, getting closer and closer. The man drops the umbrella and unholsters a Glock 22.

Metal collides with flesh as the man is sent flying over the car before he could even fire a shot. His left shoulder bounces off the glass as the man falls on his knees on the cold, wet sidewalk, the pistol and his hat sent meters away. Exiting the Town Car, Revy closes the door behind her and slowly approaches the man, the Whitman Fever taking over. She slowly unholsters one of her Cutlasses, carrying it in her right hand. She approaches the man, who is revealed to be balding. Her Cutlass is centered over the man's head. "Open…now," Revy hisses. The man, wheezing heavily from the impact, coughs out "Go to hell…"

*Bang!*

A splatter of blood dots the sidewalk as the man collapses dead, the bullet piercing the back of his head and exiting onto the concrete. Revy turns the corpse around using her leg, then fishes into his pockets, finding two keys. A metal door stands next to her, a brass knob stands opposed. The first key fails to fit, resulting in it finding its place inside one of Revy's soaked pockets. The second succeeds, as the knob turns slightly. Revy cautiously pushes the door a few inches, and then kicks it wide open, revealing a small room filled with crates and shelves. To the distant left of the room stands an opened door and a rectangular ray of light, futilely attempting to brighten the dim room. As she takes the first step inside, the door swings back at her, pinning her to a wall. Behind the door, a henchman tries to crush Revy with the door as another henchman steps inside, a Glock 22 aimed at Revy. Revy musters the strength to push the door back, then turns quickly unholsters her remaining Cutlass with her left hand and fires three shots, striking the gun wielding 'Ndrangheta henchman three times in the stomach before he could fire a shot. The wounded Italian loses his grip on his pistol as he staggers backwards and the bleeding commences. The man behind the door regains his balance and attempts to maul Revy with the door, only to simply maul air as she strafes away and fires three shots, one hitting the man's shoulder, the other two piercing his neck, sending him to the ground.

Revy coldly steps past the bleeding man, deeming him irrelevant, as she stands before the doorway. The sound of henchmen taking position alerts her. She calmly listens to their footsteps, their whispers, their readying of guns. _'At least five, probably more…'_ she thinks to herself. Past the corridor before her, several meters ahead, the beginnings of an inactive assembly line stands, a metal block attached to a conveyer belt, large enough for a grown adult to take cover. She takes three steps backwards, bends her knees and positions her Cutlasses, and then runs forward, head ducked, triggers pulled. A sea of bullets rain before her from the several henchmen that laid in waiting, enough bullets to turn an elephant into Swiss cheese. Her blind fire stems the tide of bullets as the henchmen take cover. Revy runs the gauntlet, eyes focused on the cover, focused on Rock, focused on killing every 'Ndrangheta associate in this slaughterhouse.

She heaves a sigh, as for a split second, she wonders in amazement over how she survived the dozens of bullets that just rained toward her. She surveys herself, convinced that she must have been shot at least once, yet not a single gunshot wound appeared on her. Snapping back into the present, Revy peers low, emptying the remainder of her clips at the Italians, glancing that exactly six men oppose her. One of the bullets strikes a man in the shoulder, sending him to the floor as he moans in pain. Two of the bullets strike a man in each of his kneecaps, sending him face first into the metal flooring. The man proceeds to crawl toward Revy, MP5 in his right hand. Revy quickly fishes for a pair of clips, reloading one of her Cutlasses first before ejecting the spent clip of the second. The man crawls within range of Revy, close enough to see her left kneecap sticking out. Not satisfied, the man crawls a few paces more, a blood trail marking his journey. As he prepares to open fire on Revy, she fires a shot first, and then another, the first hitting his right eye, the second hitting his nose, killing him.

Two of the Italians use suppressing fire on Revy's cover, preventing her from getting a clear line of fire. As such, Revy turns behind the metal block, eyes following the conveyer belt forward. Her right knee accidently pushes a lever, sending the conveyer belt alive as the rubber track carries nothingness toward a giant meat press a few dozen meters ahead. "Who turned on the fucking meat beater?" yells one of the henchmen, whose voice is recognized by Revy to be Giuseppe. "Fuck! Watch both sides of the conveyer belt!" Giuseppe yells as Revy leaps on top of the machinery. The four men open fire as Revy ducks her head and runs with the conveyer belt, firing bullets two a piece at the 'Ndrangheta, using the conveyer belt for added speed. Two of the men each receive shots to the torso and arms, killing them both. A third receives a wound to his left ribs, causing the man to stagger. As Giuseppe, wielding an MP5, proceeds to let his spray of bullets line up with Revy, Revy rolls back and hides behind the conveyer belt, the wall inches away from her.

Giuseppe runs toward the conveyer belt, hell bent on blowing Revy's brains out. Cursing, he yells "Christ, this was supposed to be a fucking killzone for the chink!" Revy uses Giuseppe's yelling to gauge his proximity to her. Giuseppe thrusts his MP5 behind the conveyer belt in attempt to shoot her at point blank range, only for Revy to grab his gun wielding wrist with her left hand. Giuseppe empties his clip into the wall, raising his eyebrow when he realizes that his bullets did not make a dent in the wall. Before he could say anything, Revy twists her body around to face the two wounded men, one of them just getting up. She fires two shots at each of the men, hitting one of them in the neck, killing him, and striking the other in the lungs, mortally wounding the associate. Revy then drives her right elbow into the back of Giuseppe's head, nearly breaking his neck. She vaults over the conveyer belt and turns around to watch the dazed Giuseppe slowly approach the meat press. The rhythmic pounding of hard steel fills the 'Ndrangheta member with mortal terror as he struggles to roll out of the way. His body betrays him as his mind refuses to accept death, causing him to futilely fidget. He grabs hold of the right side of the conveyer belt and desperately tries to pull himself out of harm's way, the rubber of the conveyer belt creating too great a friction to overcome. He pulls his head and his upper torso off the conveyer belt as such that his legs remain stuck to the rubber. Revy spots this and approaches Giuseppe, her eyes as dark and cold as the slaughterhouse they are fighting and dying in. She winds her right leg back and then swings it forward, giving him a sharp upward kick to the face that sends him back onto the conveyer belt, this time legs first.

"Wait till you see what Luca did to your fucking Jap boyfriend!" Giuseppe curses, his screams turn from rage to horrible agony as the meat press crushes his ankles. The crushing torment fills Giuseppe's nerves as he colors the facilities with obscenities. The second crush, of his lower body, causes Giuseppe to bite down on his tongue, severing it, filling his mouth with blood. The third crush flattens his heart, killing him, as a fourth and final crush pops his head open like a ripe, seedless watermelon, spraying blood and brain matter all over the rubber conveyer belt.

Satisfied with herself, Revy fires a bullet at the wounded man as he lays sprawled on the metal floor. She then proceeds onward toward a distant hallway, various machinery flanking her left and right. The distant hallway stands dimly lit, contrasting the ornery brightness of the slaughterhouse assembly line. A large meat grinder stands still to the right of her. Its grey, dull shine reflects the ornery fluorescent lighting. The sterile dullness of the facility digs into her nerves like the maniacal laughter of the man she is hunting for. Giuseppe's parting words play back in her mind, juxtaposed with Luca's declaration of an 'ending to things'. Her sober determination to putting a bullet between Luca's eyes causes her to not notice the hulking, bald Italian man slowly catching up to her, moving with the surprising stealth of a cobra, slithering toward its prey. Just as Revy passes the grey hunk of metal, she is set upon, not by a cobra biting her knee, but by a rhino spearing her chest. The burly Carlo Pisano pins Revy to the ground, knocks both Cutlasses out of her hands with a pair of swipes from his left club of a fist, and then grabs Revy by the throat. Revy struggles for a few seconds until she spots a weak point. She reaches for the collar of his Hawaiian shirt with her left hand and pulls his head toward her, and then uses the shortened distance to drive her right thumb into Carlo's left eye, sending unbearable agony coursing through his nerves. Screaming, Carlo lets go of Revy to address the intense pain in his left eye, allowing Revy to send a sharp kick to his left shin, staggering Carlo. She quickly gets back on her feet, sizing Carlo up. Losing sight in his left eye, Carlo swings his right arm wildly as a club. Revy calmly strafes and weaves, waiting for an opening. One missed swing at her head is followed by a swinging left kick hell bent on colliding with his ribs. Anticipating this, Carlo absorbs the blow and immediately grabs onto her ankle, keeping the ankle pressed to his rib and Revy off balance. Revy hops once on her right leg before swinging at an even more effective weak spot, her leg slamming into his crotch. The maneuver sends Revy falling awkwardly on her back and Carlo falling awkwardly on his knees. She spots one of her Cutlasses two meters to her right. Her right hand pulls back on the flooring as she slowly crawls toward the Cutlass. The Italian man recovers just enough to reach toward his back, reaching for his MP5. Three meters turn to two. The sound of glass shattering in the distance interrupts the tension. The submachine immediately reflects the fluorescent light, breathing the blood scented air. Two meters turn to one. Carlo holds his weapon steady, aimed directly at Revy. Two feet. One foot.

The sound of gunfire erupts throughout the slaughterhouse. Smoke trails from the submachine gun, as the weapon shakes in Carlo's hand. Before him, Revy lays on her back, her Cutlass inches out of reach. She stares at the befuddled 'Ndrangheta strongman. A few small, fresh bruises dot her bare stomach. A small smile cracks through her Whitman Fever.

"Looks like you're shooting blanks, cue ball…" Revy sneers, as the 'Ndrangheta member stares toward his right, toward the distant hallway.

"Boss…why?" Carlo meekly mutters, as Revy seizes the opening to extend her reach. She quickly grabs the Cutlass by its barrel and readjusts it in her hands. As soon as Carlo turns back toward Revy, she empties every remaining bullet into him. Each bullet knocks him a step backwards, until the last bullet enters the left bridge of his nose, right where the bridge meets his left eye socket. As the bullet passes through bone and cartilage, the excessive pressure from the bullet causes his left eye to pop out of his eye socket, the nerves and blood vessels still dangling as he falls backwards to the ground, dead.

Revy slowly gets to her feet, panting in exhaustion. Giving a quick glance at Carlo's dead body, she reloads the pistol in her hands. She proceeds over to her 2nd Cutlass, the dark hallway getting closer and closer. She picks up the second Cutlass, stares at it, and ejects the magazine inside. Leftover bullets clang as the clip hits the ground, two of the bullets falling out of the clip, rolling on the floor. She enters a fresh magazine into the Cutlass and pulls back on the slide.

A few steps closer and she finds the source of the broken glass. Shards of glass lay on the ground, mixed with a trail of dirt and staggered ants. The small trail of dirt leads deeper into the hallway, which sole source of light, aside from the light from the assembly line, is a flickering light bulb hanging from a chain. The sporadic flashes of light disorient Revy as she follows the remains of the ant farm across the progressively colder hallway. _'Must be the meat locker'_ , Revy thinks to herself, blocking out the cold and the darkness with a silent yet simmering rage. Her sense remain alert, Cutlasses at the ready, yet she senses that only Luca would remain. The realization that Luca switched his men's ammunition with blanks convinces Revy that Luca wants her alive.

" _Wait till you see what Luca did to your fucking Jap boyfriend!"_

She squeezes tightly on the grip of her Cutlasses. Images of Fabrizio Ammassari fill her mind, only to be replaced with images of Rock being tortured with a variety of terrifying instruments. Of him tied to a chair, bleeding all over the seat. The flicker of the light bulb gives Revy enough visibility to spot a doorway in front of her. Within the doorway, she could barely make out a light source, perhaps a single light bulb, akin to the hallway. The cold of the hallway nips at her skin, pricks at her face. Every step she takes brings her closer to the cold, to Luca, to Rock.

The dying light bulb behind her and the trail of ants before her, Revy continues her slow, methodical trek to the end of the hallway, to the end of the trail, to the 'end of things'. The light from the distant source of light shines brighter. Ants scurry left and right, dying under the crushing weight of Revy's shoes. Brighter. The cold sterile scent of blood fills her nostrils. Brighter. She smells it, smells it. Brighter. She smells the blood, the blood in the water. She smells the suffocating stench of death. It's the stench from herself, from Rock, from Luca. Brighter. The stench of the dead, of the living dead. Brighter.

The trail ends, leading her into a room. Peering inside the room, several meters away, a dark, large meat locker, barely lit only by a single light bulb, a man sits bound to a wooden chair, his mouth gagged with what used to be his own tie. The room is devoid of everything except a single light bulb, a chair, and the occupants inside it. The man's shirt is torn, lying on the ground. His chest is a mesh of blood and flesh, as an obscure figure has been carved into him. Small puddles of blood dot the area around the man, the Japanese businessman.

"ROCK!" Revy yells, rushing inside, guns drawn. The sound of her footsteps increases in frequency. Closer. Closer. The carving becomes clearer. Closer. Closer. She steps inside the meat locker, able to see the carving in detail. It is a carving of Eris, a mirror copy of Luca's tattoo.

"Rock…what the hell did he do to you…" Revy freezes, her Whitman Fever mixing with shock and horror. The heavy metal door to the meat locker starts accelerating toward Revy. Revy strafes to her left, spotting Luca pushing the door. She quickly points her gun, about to pull the trigger when Luca flips a switch on the wall, plunging the room into darkness.

She fires her Cutlasses haphazardly, missing horribly as each flash of the muzzle brightens the locker for a split second. The flash of the gun illuminates enough of the three, casting them as ghostly figures. Revy keeps firing, following the quick flashes of Luca's face toward him, until he stood behind Rock. Without pointing a gun at him, Luca took Rock hostage yet again, forcing Revy to cease firing. She fires a pair of shots into the ceiling, using the flash from the muzzle to accurately orientate herself, Luca, Rock, and the light switch. She grinds her teeth, losing count on the amount of bullets she has left to spare.

"Ah how absolutely quaint, how ants scurry along, how they burrow and burrow, only to be back to where they begun!" Luca cackles maniacally in the darkness, his left hand running across Rock's shoulders. Revy clamps down on her teeth, tempted ever so to spray Luca with bullets. Luca begins to sway left and right, masking his location. His sporadic laughter unnerving Revy, infuriating her, needling her. She turns her head around and fires another shot into the ceiling, rediscovering the location of the light switch. Luca spots this, his laughter ceasing as he pulls the sleeves of his jacket back. For what felt like an eternity, the two of them stand in a Mexican Standoff. A standoff with one armed with a gun, and the other armed with a voice. Neither of them is able to see the other, yet each of them knows who holds the advantage. Revy clutches tightly on her Cutlasses, barely adjusting to the darkness, barely making out the outlines of the tortured Rock. Her Whitman Fever subsides as she shakes the dice in her hand.

She tosses her dice.

A quick backward lunge toward the light switch by Revy is matched by a lunge toward Revy by Luca. As she just pulls the switch up, Luca sets himself upon her, driving her shoulder first into the wall. Revy's outstretch right hand tries to angle her Cutlass at Luca, but Luca drives his fist into her wrist, sending one of her Cutlasses to the ground. He quickly kicks the dropped Cutlass to the side, well out of either one's grasp. Revy quickly responds by pointing the Cutlass in her left hand at Luca. Luca ducks under her arm, leaving Rock in the crossfire. Revy freezes herself before she could accidently fire a shot at Rock, which gives Luca enough time to grab her arm. Luca then proceeds to pull her body over his shoulder and flip Revy onto the ground. Luca locks Revy's right arm upward using his right arm and right knee. Revy's remaining Cutlass aims toward the ceiling, trying to arc itself toward Luca's head. Luca sticks his left index finger on top of Revy's trigger finger and pushes down, causing the Cutlass to empty the remainder of its clip harmlessly into the ceiling. He attempts to pry the Cutlass out of Revy's hands, but Revy counters with an overarching kick to his forehead. Luca staggers enough for Revy to get back on her feet. Revy adjusts her empty Cutlass in her hand and attempts to pistol whip Luca, but Luca catches the butt of the gun with his right hand, wincing in pain. He then uses his left leg to sweep Revy to the ground, causing her to lose grip on her remaining Cutlass, which Luca immediately kicks away.

"I was always certain that those Jujitsu lessons would pay dividends one day!" Luca exclaims, somewhat panting from exhaustion. Revy glares at Luca, full of murderous rage, and yells "Fuck you!" She swings her right leg at Luca's ribs, who parries her leg to the side. Revy then lunges her arms forward, grabbing Luca's ankles. Summoning all her energy, she pulls his ankles from under his feet, sending him back first into the ground. Revy then quickly gets on her feet and takes aim at Luca's throat. She squares his neck up and drives her left leg toward it, intending to crush it. Luca quickly counters and grabs Revy's left foot, and then drives a sharp kick into Revy's right shin. The 'Ndrangheta boss regains his composure and gets on his knees, pulling Revy up by her hair as he gets to his feet. Luca then grabs Revy by her face, a sinister smile spreading ear to ear on his own face, and drives her head first into the cold metal wall. Her earlier head wound is exacerbated as all of her remaining energy is sapped away.

"You must understand, Rebecca Zhao! I have never fought a battle on another's terms! I thought that would have been ever so clear the first time we met!" Luca yells, laughing, his movements becoming erratic. Revy grinds her teeth, wanting to slam her fists on the ground, but lacking the strength to do so. "Met before? When did you fucking fight me? Who the fuck are you? WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT WITH ME? WITH ROCK?"

Luca bursts out in hysterical laughter, holding his forehead with his left hand. "Oh it was not a battle of fists or a battle of gunfire, but a battle of words and corruption! A BATTLE? NO! It was a blindside! A blindside so effective, that you, Rebecca Zhao, still fail to acknowledge! Still fail to realize what happened! What truly happened, that cold day so many years ago!"

Revy's eyes widen, all her rage wiped off her face. Her skin slowly turns white, white in fear, in shock. "Who are you, who the fuck are you!" She yells again, not out of rage, but out of horror.

Luca's laughter increases in intensity. Tears start to flow down his eyes, tears of maniacal laughter. Laughter of horror. Horror of the past, of the cold, dark past. "You still do not remember, Rebecca Zhao? You do not remember? Manhattan? Chinatown?"

Luca pauses to survey the increasing paleness of Revy.

"PRECIENT 27?"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Revy yells out, trying to crawl away, but unable to claw through cold steel. She struggles furiously to avoid being sucked into the deep black hole of her past.

"Oh but I believe that you know now, Rebecca Zhao! You remember now what happened! You remember now!" Luca yells, each word giving him a sense of power, of pride, of accomplishment. Revy stares into Luca's eyes, frozen. "You…what did you do…that cop…" Revy mutters, shaken to her core.

"Oh how I cherish that memory so dearly! That memory, that day 8 years ago! That day when my father was still working for the 'Ndrangheta clan of NYC, when I was detained for attempting to recoup a long-overdue loan. When I was able to conceal the money on my person, oh what an excellent decision! When I was placed in the holding pen opposite of a little, sobbing Chinese street urchin! It was fate! It had to be fate!" Luca wipes the stream of tears off his face, his laughter slowing due to exhaustion. He watches in elevated amusement as the once vicious gunner is reduced into a whimpering, frozen mess, just as he remembers her on that day long ago.

"Stop…stop…stop…" Revy mutters, trying desperately to block out his words, but unable to resist listening. He did not need rope or sedatives to freeze Revy in her place, for his words are much, much more effective. Her body shakes in stress and despair. What remains of her soul pangs in agony as a thousand needles are set upon it.

"Oh how I remember, when kind Officer Stuart Morgan approached my cell, offering me assurances that I will be granted an early release, if only I offered him the money that he knew I had on my person! Oh what a sly one, I remember that Officer Morgan to be. If only I had a thousand Officer Morgans, what fun I could have had!"

Revy whimpers as she remembers that cold night, that slimy touch, that disgusting hand wrapped around her neck as that man, that Officer Morgan, robbed her of all that was innocent about her. The day that she was forced into the cruel horrible world that she now knows very well. "Officer…Stuart…Morgan…" Revy mutters, having a name for a face.

"He wanted the proceeds from the loan, from the interest…but I saw opportunity! I saw a chance to see true horror, true terror! To see the destruction of a human being, of an ant, scurrying along the sand! My freedom? My freedom could wait! I demanded a show!" Luca bursts into a second fit of maniacal laughter, his sports jacket and under shirt drenched in sweat and tears. Tears of laughter.

"So…you…no…no!" Revy musters the energy to say, her entire body shaking. Her fingers vibrate violently as her blood turns to ice.

"DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH YOUR INNOCENCE WAS WORTH! $5,000! AND OH HOW IT WAS MONEY WELL SPENT! THE LAUGHTER, THE TEARS, THE SIGHT OF EVERY PRECONCIEVED NOTION OF HUMANITY DESTROYED IN FRONT OF MY EYES! FOR THE FIRST TIME IN MY LIFE, I FELT, NOT LIKE AN ANT, BUT LIKE A GOD! A GOD! A DEITY! A CREATER OF DESTINIES! A BENDER OF WILLS! REBECCA ZHAO, IT WAS ON THAT DAY THAT I BECAME A GOD! YOUR GOD!" Luca's laughter is mixed with frenzied yelling. "WHY YOU? WHY NOW? BECAUSE YOU WERE THE FIRST! MY FIRST!"

Revy simply stares, shivering, eyes wide, almost suffocating. Luca calms down somewhat, his vocal cords exhausted from the yelling.

"I tried ever so arduously to replicate that sight, that image. To replicate that sense of everlasting power, everlasting Godhood. I have tried all types of plots, men, women, and children alike. Some recover, some commit suicide. Very few hold that lasting destruction, that stench of walking death, that I was able to create with you. Followers, followers of Luca Cavalcanti. None as perfect as my first disciple…" Luca slowly walks toward Rock, standing right behind him. "Followers…damaged…possessed…branded…" Luca grins as he meticulously loosens the restraints on Rock.

"That…that is why you kidnapped Rock..." Revy summons the little energy she has to mutter out. Luca grins widely, reaching behind his waist for two Beretta 92s. He carelessly drops one of them on the ground next to Rock and steps toward Revy, the second gun clutched in his right hand. Then suddenly, she understood.

"You…you said that a true God is only proven when the actor leaves the stage…" Revy mutters, as shock increasingly engulfs her face. Luca aims the Beretta 92 at Revy's head, and then bursts in laughing. He whispers toward Revy "You want this to happen, don't you? I can see it in your eyes…this is what you always desired…" Revy's entire body becomes paralyzed. She wants to scream, to say something, anything, but she couldn't do a thing.

"Shut up…"

A bloody tie and a set of rope hits the floor as a pistol is raised off the ground. Luca's laughter simply increases.

"Shut up…"

Luca takes a quick glance into Revy's eyes, savoring the horror, the destruction, the product of his labors. His laughter becomes hysterical.

"I SAID SHUT UP!"

*Bang* A bullet from the Beretta 92 misses Luca by an inch. *Bang, Bang, Bang* Three bullets fly into Luca's body, striking him in the right arm and shoulder. Luca holds onto his gun, laughing. *Bang, Bang* Two bullets fly into Luca's rib cage, sending him back first into the ground. The wounded 'Ndrangheta boss gets on his knees, laughing hysterically. Only then was Revy able to see, to see Rock, bleeding from his carved chest. A pistol in his hand, aimed at Luca's wounded self. Only then did she see his eyes.

His Whitman Fever. Just like her. The same. They are the same. Rock aims his Beretta 92, the barrel of his gun touching the left side of Luca's forehead, angled in such a way as to avoid a through and through shot hitting Revy. Luca smiles, wincing in pain. Smiles. Smiles, at the ending to things.

"Yes…yes...NOW MAKE ME A GOD!"

*Bang!*

A spray of blood exits the temple of the 'Ndrangheta boss, the laughing man, the deity. A God of chaos, murder, pain, and destruction. A man who goes to his grave, leaving behind the dozens of followers that he has left in his wake.

As the body of Luca Cavalcanti thuds against the cold ground, Revy dares herself to look up, to look at Rock. His eyes. His face. No satisfaction, no guilt. Completely blank, sick with Whitman Fever.

"I am tired Revy…I want to rest…" Rock emotionlessly mutters. He turns his back to the wall and grimaces as his back touches the cold steel. Finally, from the intense pain all over his body, from the torture that Luca put him through, he passes out, drifting into sleep. Sleeping right next to Revy. A shaken, shivering Revy. Her fingers vibrate as she stares blankly into the ground between her feet. Into Luca's dead body. She wanted to kill Luca, but she can't, for he is already dead. She wants to kill someone that she could blame for all that transpired, but she can't, for they are all dead or cannot be found. She wants to release her rage but she can't, for there is no one she could target.

" _You want this to happen, don't you? I can see it in your eyes…this is what you always desired…"_

So she screams.


	6. The Blue Bus

"He looks peaceful…a real fucking sleeping beauty," Revy says staring at a sleeping Rock, resting on their rented bed. The two of them are alone in the motel. Inside, the room is as it was when Benny and Dutch left, the ashtray still standing in place, Dutch's cigarette put out. Underneath Rock is a large, white towel, a barrier between him and the bed. Red blood spots dot the towel.

' _Well this was going to fucking happen eventually, him shooting a gun at least. How many years did he go? Shit…since we first met...years...must be some fucking record in Roanapur. Longest ever without dying or killing someone at the same time…not counting Benny. Heh…I'd give him a medal but it looks like that guinea Luca gave him one on his chest already…'_ Revy sighs, thinking to herself, following the carving on his chest. She sticks her right index finger out, millimeters away from his chest, tracing the carving.

"Shit, Rock. I am sorry. I am so fucking sorry I dragged you into this…"Revy mutters quietly, finding the words coming out of her mouth to be almost foreign. "Shouldn't of let you join us, you didn't need this shit…fuck," Revy mutters, angry at herself for letting it come to this. "No…don't say that Revy. That is just what Luca wants you to say…" Revy talks to herself, her emotions swinging wildly.

Revy reaches toward a desk for a Beretta 92, the same pistol that Rock used to blow Luca's brains out. She eyes the pistol, spotting a small smudge of blood on the grip. _'Probably Rock's,'_ Revy thinks to herself. "This shouldn't have happened…THIS SHOULDN'T HAVE FUCKING HAPPENED!" Revy yells, her moods continuing to swing wildly. Suddenly, a sense of deep reflection takes over.

"He looks so fucking peaceful, even with those new eyes of his…can't blame myself for what Luca did…but…sure as shit can blame myself for allowing a chance for this to happen…" Revy grinds her teeth, clutching onto the grip of the Beretta 92. She recalls back to Fabiola's words, to the time she warned Revy of what Rock truly is. She recalls how he has changed over the years, how much he has grown into the Lagoon Company. It pisses her off. A part of her hopes Rock will never wake up, for that part is almost scared of what she might find.

"Maybe if I send him off…now, maybe I can make this right. Myself as well, so someone could get blamed and punished for causing this shit…maybe…" Revy mutters, staring into Rock's sleeping body. She pulls off the rubber band holding her hair, letting it flow to her shoulders. And then…she sings. Sings…whispers...

"The blue bus…is calling us…" She blinks. "The blue bus…is calling us…Driver where you takin' us?" Revy sings. Pulling back the safety on the pistol.

"The killer awoke before dawn…He put his boots on…He took a face…from the ancient gallery and he walked on down the hall…" Revy continues, feeling the grip of the pistol, the grooves on the sides of the grip.

"He went in the room where his sister lived and…and then he…paid a visit to his brother…and then he…he walked on down the hall and…and he came to a door…and he looked inside," Revy continues, her emotions swaying from dread to agony to rage to bliss.

"Father…Yes son? I want to kill you," say Revy.

"Father…Yes daughter? I want to kill you," says Rock, grinning his sadistic smile. "C'MON YEAH!"

Rock leans forward, smiling his sadistic smile. Like she once saw before. His eyes.

She smiled her smile, her animalistic smile. The smile of the walking dead.

"C'mon baby, take a chance with us," Revy says. Rock leans closer, his face in front of the barrel.

"C'mon baby, take a chance with us," Rock says, watching Revy slowly smile in delight.

"C'mon baby, take a chance with us and…meet me at the back of the…blue bus, doin' a…blue rock, on a…blue bus, doin' a…BLUE ROCK! C'MON YEAH!" Rock says, moving his face closer to the barrel.

She stares into his eyes, his face, his animalistic eyes, his animalistic face. Like a snake stalking its prey. He rubs his nose against the tip of the barrel, and continues. "Fuck, fuck…ahh, yeah…" Revy grins, the same grin she shows before she is about to kill someone. "Fuck…fuck…ahh…fuck…fuck, fuck, fuck, yeah!" Her hands shake, the pistol hovering in her hands. "C'mon baby…c'mon! FUCK me baby…fuck yeah!" She pulls the pistol to his nose. "AHH! Fuck, fuck, fuck! YEAH!" She rubs the tip of the barrel against his cheek, her trigger finger shaking. "FUCK YEAH! C'mon baby…fuck me baby. Fuck! Fuck!" She steadies her aim, engulfed in an incredible state of mania and euphoria. "OAH! OAH! OAH! YEAH! FUCK YEAH! DO IT, YEAH!" Revy's breathes shorten. She struggles to breathe, her hands visibly shaking. Rock grinning maniacally, his animalistic grin. Revy grinning maniacally, her animalistic grin. "C'MON..YE, YE, YE, YEAH! Alllllllllright!"

She fires into the ceiling. "Kill," she fires again. "Kill," she fires one more time "Kill." Another bullet hits the ceiling "Kill." A fifth bullet hits the ceiling "Kill."

"Kill," a sixth, final bullet hits the ceiling, the smoke exiting the barrel. She lowers the gun to the ground, panting, every part of her body coldly shaking. She struggles to restrain herself, swaying back and forth, dropping the gun harmlessly on the ground. She looks into Rock's sleeping eyes and finishes.

"This is the end…beautiful friend," she pauses, collecting herself. "This is the end…my only friend, the end," she pauses, putting herself back together.

"It hurts to set you free," she licks her dried lips, her once elevated stress ebbing away. "But you'll never…follow me…" she pauses, thinking to herself _'is that even true…'_

"The end…of laughter…and soft lies…" _'No, that is a lie, that is bullshit, Revy.'_

"The end…of nights…we tried to die…" _'They ain't ending anytime soon, stop bullshitting yourself, Revy.'_

"This…is...the end," _'No, it is not. It is just starting…'_

Revy exhales and kneels before the bed, and then carefully lays on it, resting right next to Rock. She stares upward toward the ceiling, toward the bullet holes she left behind.

"It's a good one by the Doors," Rock says, his eyes still closed. Revy rolls her eyes and emotionlessly asks "Christ, you were awake for all of that? I was about to shoot you." A surge of embarrassment fills her veins. Rock smirks and responds "But then you'll feel guilty." Revy reaches for a pack of cigarettes and quietly responds "Fuck you Rock."

Rock chuckles and asks "What happened since I passed out?" Revy fetches the ashtray, sets it on the desk drawer, and lights her cigarette, returning to her previous position by Rock's side. "I carried you out of the slaughterhouse and drove you back here. Hotel Moscow was very happy, thanking me for killing Luca…" Rock retrieves a cigarette of his own as the two grow quiet. After a pause, she continues "Balalaika promised to fulfill her end of the bargain. She said that she's gonna use some new connections in Japan to take the heat off of your brother. He's going to be okay, she said. She also said that she can't clear the investigation into you, so unless you want to hang by the neck, you ain't able to go back to Japan. On the other side of the news, Balalaika said she is going to let our involvement with Luca slide. She's also too busy to give a shit anyway. The war with the Sicilians netted Hotel Moscow a shit load of property and cash. They are probably going to do some expanding as well as some selling of the stuff they seized. It's probably going to make Chang and his Triads a bit nervous, that Balalaika is almost, if not already, at his level now. On top of that, with the players at the table now at two and a half, with Abrego being Balalaika's bitch and all, there is a bit of tension over what next. I'd imagine we'd see some new players trying to jump into the game, but who knows anyway?"

"Can I get a light?" Rock asks, pointing toward the cigarette in his mouth. Revy arches her head back, stretching it, and the two turn toward each other. Revy leans closer, the tips of their cigarettes meet. She accidently places her hand on his carved flesh, causing him to wince in pain. His cigarette lights up as blood starts to seep out of the exacerbated wound. "Sorry about that," Revy says.

Rock gets up and maneuvers himself over Revy and onto the ground. He holds his cigarette in his mouth, his left hand supporting it, as he scratches the back of his neck. His hair looks like a mesh of iron dust inches from a magnet.

"It's alright, I'm okay," Rock responds. A line of blood flows down his chest, falling onto the ground as droplets. Revy watches the blood splatter on the ground, and then looks up to Rock. "Luca did a good number on you…how you holding up?" Rock exhales smoke, his eyes bloodshot and tired, his head aching and his chest throbbing in pain.

"When Luca started carving this…this…this shit, on my chest, my screaming must have annoyed him to the point that he would knock me out with chloroform so he could work in peace and quiet. By the time I would wake up, the physical pain wasn't that bad…Between these 'carving' sessions, we would just talk. Well most of the time he talks and I try to block him out of my head. I was able to shut him out of my head…usually." Rock rubs his forehead, recalling the various sessions with Luca that he had between his kidnapping and his rescue.

"What was he talking about," Revy asked, not sure if she wanted to know the answer.

"What do you think?" Rock responds coldly, grimacing in pain with each movement of his torso. "Sorry, I just rather not think back to that. People like Luca always exist to fuck with everyone around them, because they are not happy with the shit they see. It's among that fucked up part of people, the part where the most important thing for someone is to piss on the ground, to prove to everyone that that someone once existed. If it wasn't enough that Luca had to be a total fucking scumbag and a sociopath, he also had to be insecure with the fact that most of the world won't care when he's dead. Well, he's dead now and a bunch of people care. They are going to clap when his body is chopped to pieces and fed to the sharks, but they care...argh!" Rock stamps his feet, grinds his teeth, crushes his cigarette onto the ashtray to release some of his rage. Some of the scars on his chest reopen, causing blood to trickle out. "Excuse me Revy, I'm going to wash this blood off of me," Rock concludes, slowly walking toward the bathroom.

Revy looks down toward the blood stain on the ground, staring at it deeply. A sense of anguish and pain fills her body. She takes a final drag of her cigarette and then crushes it on the ashtray. Revy turns around and retrieves the towel that Rock laid on, blood seeped into the fabric. She slowly walks toward the bathroom.

Inside, Rock has already stripped naked, his blood stained pants and his socks placed right next to where Revy placed his blood soaked dress shirt and tie. He mutters to himself "That was my only tie…" and then steps inside the bathtub. He sits on the edge of the tub and reaches toward the knob. A pair of counter-clockwise turns, and a jet of hot water and steam jettisons forward. Rock soaks his feet in the hot water, putting himself at ease. He doesn't enjoy the idea of washing himself with his chest already throbbing in pain from the slightest of movements.

"You need help?" Revy asks, the towel in her right hand. She raises the towel up as she asks. Rock arches his head around, pauses to think for a few seconds, and then says "Yeah…yeah." Revy soaks the towel in the sink, pink water flowing down the drain. She turns toward Rock and kneels behind him, towel in her outstretched right hand. She holds on to his shoulder with her left hand as she dabs on a cluster of blood spots above his right nipple. "Fuck, it would have been easier for both of you had he carved that…whatever that is…on your back," Revy curses. Rock winces as Revy cleans the blood off his chest and as steam fills his nostrils. "I think he wanted to make sure I saw it every time I looked into a mirror," Rock says matter-of-factly.

"Psycho motherfucker…" Revy curses quietly as Rock looks down at the small streams of blood that flow into the bathtub. Rock shifts between wincing from the pain and relaxing from the steam. "I have to admit…" Rock says, trying to stop the words coming out of his mouth. "Admit what?" Revy asks, perplexed. Rock futilely tries to stop the words coming out of his mouth. To stop the truth. "I…I have to admit…" Rock closes his eyes.

"This was the most dangerous gambit I ever played…" Rock utters.

Revy's face turns still. "The most dangerous gambit you ever played…" the towel falls out of her hand. "Dangerous gambit you ever played…" she repeats, slowly letting the truth sink in. "Ever played…" her eyes widen, her pupils shrinking. "W…W…WWWhat?" Revy exclaims, slowly realizing everything that just transpired. "You…you fucking knew this was going to happen?"

Rock exhales and speaks, filling in the details.

"After we dropped Luca off at his apartment and he pulled information out from nowhere, I realized that he had an information broker…a good one. The day you went to see Leroy for information…I made a phone call to Shenhua's place. That weirdo Rotton was the only one there, so I gave him a job to stake out the person that I guessed to be his information broker. I paid him to blend in the background, which was what he is good at doing anyway, so it was a good fit for the job." Rock stops to swallow his saliva and formulate his thoughts. "The plan worked when I received the call from Rotton, telling me that he spotted Luca entering his car and driving away from Eda's 'place of work'."

The realization hit Revy with force of a bullet fired from a .50 caliber sniper rifle. She held her right arm to her forehead "Luca probably pulled local info from contacts, people at the Yellow Flag, probably dug up some info on Eda, made contact with her. I told that bitch so much shit, Luca probably thought he struck gold. Never would have imagined Eda selling me out…"

Rock continued "I confronted Eda in person. When I asked about Luca she laughed off and pulled a gun to my head. I bluffed, saying that I had evidence of Eda's side business in drug smuggling, and that I left it with Dutch, and that if I would not return in 8 hours, he would pass the info on to Balalaika, who would certainly like to know that someone is stealing her customers. Eda folded, probably because of the set of duffle bags placed a meter away from where we were. I'm guessing that was what Luca used as payment for the information, the cocaine he paid us to smuggle. Luca probably loved the dramatic irony in that. Anyway, Eda did not want to find a place to stash millions of dollars worth of cocaine from a Russian hit squad, so she caved in, asking me for what I wanted. I asked for all the information she had on Luca. She handed me a large dossier on him. From the dossier, I found that he had no relationship to me, so I started digging into his travels." Rock pauses to recall the contents of the dossier.

"Luca Cavalcanti was born in the small Italian enclave of East Harlem, Manhattan. His father, Marco Cavalcanti, was a significant member in the NYC 'Ndrangheta family, and Luca joined the organization by birthright when he turned 18. He mostly worked as an extortionist, and was infamous for clever, out-of-the-box extortion schemes. His only recorded arrest was for assaulting a man over money owed, a street vendor, on Canal Street in Chinatown. He was released shortly when the man chose not to press charges. After that, Luca moved with his father, making small stops in Albany, New York, Syracuse, New York, Buffalo, New York…followed by crossing the border into Canada. Luca continued to make small, six month stops in Hamilton, Ontario, Toronto, Ontario, Kingston, Ontario, Ottawa, Ontario, and finally Montreal, Quebec, where Marco Cavalcanti died from a heart attack. The dossier highlighted several remotely connected deaths and murders in each of the places I just mentioned. Mostly women, but some men were targeted too. Loved to use similar methods for each of his victims. If anything, Luca operated less like a mobster and more like a serial killer."

Revy buries her head in her hands, absorbing all the information, when a thought hit her. "I…I don't fucking understand why you didn't just have me blow his brains out…"

Steam fills the bathroom as Rock continues. "The amount of attention he gave to us made no sense. It was inconsistent with how Luca usually approached his victims. I pried out another dossier, one of you, full with notes that Eda wrote herself. From all your friendly drinking parties you had with her, she was stockpiling information after information. I checked some dates and found information about a Chinese girl arrested for theft and a possible rape committed by a police officer in a police precinct, followed by the murder of that girl's father. I crossed referenced the dates with the dates in Luca's dossier and that's when I understood 95% of what happened. I was certain Luca had something to do with the fucked up shit you went through."

"That…backstabbing cunt…" Revy curses, in shock from the truth. "That…that still doesn't fucking answer as to why you didn't tell me this shit. Why you let yourself get kidnapped and carved! Were you hoping that Luca, out of his infinite kindness, cuts your brother some slack?"

Rock grows silent, into deep thought. "Revy…I don't think you realize how many times I walked into your room to wake you up, only to hear the things that you mumble in your sleep…Sometimes I would just sit there, listening, sick to my gut from the things you say, the things that you scream…When I saw what Luca did to Balalaika, I realized that Balalaika might do what Luca promised to do, as in protect my brother, when she was probably going to send you to kill Luca. I didn't hold out much hope, but that part of the gambit worked out anyway."

"I thought we were doing this shit for your brother?" Revy yelled, placing her hands on his shoulders.

"I DO NOT CARE ABOUT MY BROTHER! REVY, DO YOU UNDERSTAND! I WANTED TO GET HIM OUT OF MY HEAD, BUT THINGS CHANGED! I HAD A CHANCE TO KEEP YOUR NIGHTMARES, YOUR PAST, FROM COMPLETELY DESTROYING YOU!" Rock pauses for air as Revy stares at him incredulously. The hot water in the tub reaches Rock's ankles. "I am sorry for lying and feigning ignorance, and for acting up that I had no idea what was going on. I am sorry for putting you in harm's way, but I realized that the only reason Luca would screw with someone he already wrecked was because he was content, and had a final game to play. He wouldn't let either of us die. He wanted us to live on to remember how much he FUCKED our lives! I…I wanted Luca to admit everything he did to you, so you would understand why it happened, who caused it to happen, and that the monster who did it is now dead and not going to hurt anyone else again. I spent years in Roanapur, attempting to change strangers for the better, hoping that my 'selflessness' could change something! For two years I changed absolutely nothing, helping strangers that couldn't care less about me! But for the very first time, I was able to help, not change as I selfishly once hoped, but helped, someone that I cared about. I was able to make a difference for someone that I care about…and for me…that is my victory!"

Revy tightens her grip around Rock's neck, strangling him. "WHO GAVE YOU THE FUCKING RIGHT TO FUCK WITH MY MIND? TO PUT ME THROUGH THIS SHIT?" She pushes him face first into the inch high water, trying to drown him. Every fiber of her being pulsates with rage as she tries to fill his lungs with water. Rock does not make any attempt to resist as the blood on his chest turns the water a shade of red. Revy watches the water turn redder and redder. And then she lets go of her grip, falls on his back, and cries for the first time in so many years.

"You…you did this for me…" Revy cries as Rock turns around to face Revy, to show her the bloody carving on his chest. "Partners don't fucking get tortured like this just to make each other feel better…fucking Rock, why? You did this for me…why?" Revy cries hysterically, her tears raining onto his chest, splashing blood and water. She cries as he places his arm around her neck. She cries as he pulls her head toward him. She cries as he thrusts his lips into hers.

"What the fuck just happened?" Revy asks, gasping for breath, naked, as both of them wash off their blood off of their bodies. "I don't know Revy…I don't know. Just make it happen more often," Rock answers, panting, smirking. Rock gets out of the bathtub and steps toward the sink. He opens a cabinet and retrieves a roll of medical tape. Revy follows him out of the bathtub and grabs the medical tape out of his hands. She pulls on a loose end and pressed the end of the tape on right side of his back, just above his waistline. She begins to wrap the medical tape around his torso, slowly concealing more and more of Luca's masterpiece. "What now?" Revy asks, wrapping the tape as gently as she could to reduce Rock's pain. "Not much has changed now, I am still myself, mostly, I think. We are still working for Black Lagoon. Not much has changed…" Rock says, reflecting on everything that happened, from the first steps into Samoa to the tape slowly climbing up his torso. "Not much has changed, ehh Rocky boy?" Revy smirks, a bit amused by his response. "I am going to have a chat with Eda in the not-so-distant future," Revy says "which reminds me. Rock, let's keep what's going on between us as much of a secret as possible. I rather not have another Luca coming along, playing games with us." Rock nods and responds "I understand, I was about to suggest the same thing myself." Revy smiles and says "Good…good. I called Dutch earlier, asked him for a couple of days off. He understood and is okay with it, had a simple job he needed taking care of anyway." Revy finishes concealing the carving, and completes her wrapping with an overlap of tape over his two shoulders, forming what could pass as a makeshift vest. Rock smiles and responds "Alright, that is good. I wouldn't mind some free time…"

" _You're special, Rokuro. Unique. I have encountered many people in my life, but there is something else I see in you," Luca says, taking a drag on his cigarette, the only source of heat in the cold meat locker. The light bulb above them flickers on and off._

_ Rock savors the sudden extended silence when he suddenly decided to ask a question, to further gauge the caliber of man that Luca is. _

" _Have you ever decided, halfway through, that you couldn't continue your gambit on someone? That you couldn't bring yourself to break someone? That you felt sick from the thought?" Rock asks, unsure as to why._

" _You might, Rokuro. I do not judge. I accept the reality that mankind, all of it, is a collection of people capable of doing anything, any depraved act that can and may be imagined. You certainly enjoy judging, Rokuro," Luca bellows, smiling._

" _I am not you, Luca. I cannot bring myself to play with one's emotions like you enjoy doing!" Rock yells, almost insulted._

" _Nonsense, Rokuro! You can easily be a gambler like me. Better, even. You are charismatic, intelligent, sharp. You are able to gauge the motivations of those around you with relatively ease," Luca retorts, knocking ash off of his cigarette._

" _I cannot bring myself to do what you do, Luca. I cannot…morally do so. It's just not me," Rock retorts, growing steadily unsure._

" _I am speaking of reality, of fact. You are speaking of fantasy, of imagination, of theory. Rokuro, I know what you did to that Garcia child, how you played a dangerous game that nearly got him killed. Rokuro…you are not a good person. No such thing exists. Rokuro...what you are is fortunate, fortunate that you have been able to live so long, oblivious to the truth. The truth…that regardless of who you are, of where you originated, of what you desire…that what you are capable of is EXACTLY what you will do."_

**Author's Note:**

> Fin


End file.
